


Ill Met by Moonlight: A Twilight Tommy Tale

by GitariArt



Series: Twilight Tommy Tales [1]
Category: OC - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Changelings, Drama, Dreams and Nightmares, Faeries - Freeform, Fairies, Fairy Tale Elements, Fights, Gen, Memory Related, Mythical Beings & Creatures, OC, OC - character - Freeform, Original Character - Freeform, Original Character(s), POV First Person, Plot, Relationship(s), Supernatural Elements, Urban Fantasy, Violence, fae, faery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-19 18:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 147,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3620214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GitariArt/pseuds/GitariArt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy wakes up miserably in a world which is not right and has to come to terms with what has happened to him and the rest of the volunteer patients of a clinical drug trial gone “wyrd”. Is what Tommy sees real or in his head and are the dreams helpful? Then, just when Tommy starts to come to grips with the hidden-in-plain-view society, of which he is now part, unintended territorial troubles build quickly to a violent conclusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Acknowledgement: the Straight Lane Group, for input.  
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to persons or characters, living, dead, or fictional, or to actual places or events, is coincidental.  
> Gratitude: Extra-special thanks goes to Rachel, my endlessly living and encouraging wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincerest of thanks to [chinapiggy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565) for beta-editing this chapter.

Sitting in my little black Festiva next to a massive and chatty (no longer a) man, I look for any distraction to help me calm my mind. The big guy is jovial and generally pleasant, however he tends to speak only for the sake of filling the silence. So, I turn to my notes/journal and start to transcribe a more organized outline. Either my companion is oblivious to me, or he ignores the rudeness—mine and his own.

          It feels like it has been a lifetime; in many ways I think it has at least been the beginning of one. Yet, my notes confirm, it has been less than three weeks since waking once more in the really Real World. I hope that what I sit here distracting myself from will not bring this new life to a gruesome end.

          If nothing happens tonight, or if our quarry does show up and I survive the encounter, then I shall have to expand this outline into something more. Perhaps I shall attempt to publish and distribute a, sort of, beginner's guide to other hapless mortals that have been unfortunate enough to be "touched" by spirits, only to be returned to a mundane home that has moved on—and was never as mundane as they thought in the first place…

 

          Luckily, dear reader, I did, and now you are reading it.

 

17 Nights Earlier:

The jostling hurt and the hurt helped to wake me. My overall aching quickly resolved into two types of soreness. First and foremost, the soreness of exhaustion, the all-over body ache of needing more sleep. That deep weariness was why I needed physical assistance to wake, why mere nudging seemed exaggerated to shaking, and was also the reason that the “shaking” barely worked. My other discomforts were a variety of localized pains, from what I would soon enough verify to be scrapes and bruises, plus strained and knotted muscles. It was these secondary aches which sent sharp jolts past my exhaustion, every time I was “gently” jostled, by the raspy-voiced man.

          Who was raspy voice guy? How did he get here...? Where was here? These and other similarly obtuse questions flashed through my brain as I opened my eyes and tried to answer them. Many answers arrived fairly swiftly, although in nothing like an organized or helpful manner. Plus, most of these answers did not make sense.

          For instance, the raspy voice—like someone that had smoked too much and might need an oxygen tank—belonged to the grumpy divorcée. Now what did that mean...? Ken. Yeah, he had said he was Ken. So, how and why do I recognize Ken? And what was the deal with the weird lighting? And why was I in a strange bed? Why did I think I should be in a strange bed, just not that one?

          I sat up and rubbed my eyes, then tried to rub flexibility back into some of my stiff and sore limbs. Kendal! Another brainwave, I was in room 106 of the Kendal drug study… something about final stage testing of new anxiety meds. Yeah, right, a group of us had been assigned to room 106 and Ken was one of us, he was ticked off that his newly ex-wife had hosed him so hard that he needed to play lab rat for extra cash.

          Ken looked messed-up, worse than I felt. I had thought that Ken was in his mid thirties, but now his sallow sunken cheeks, flinty baggy eyes, and dry graying hair made him seem much older. The day before… was that right? It felt like much longer, that could not make sense. Kendal was only going to keep us for observation from Friday night to Sunday morning, for that first round. We must still be at Kendal, so it must just be Sunday... no, Saturday, it must be, because I cannot remember Saturday having happened, yet.

I shook my head to try and get it back on track. Ken, yes, good. Ken the day before had seemed a little taller than me, maybe six two or six three, sort of generic brown hair, clean shaven, and average in build. Ken had seemed full of energy, not quite able to find a comfortable place to sit, always picking things up and putting them down again. Sitting on the bed in the weird light, the man seemed to loom over me, gaunt and eerily still.

          Of course, the lighting still seemed weird, like it was too dark, yet clear at the same time, and I was a bit woozy still, so maybe I just wasn't getting a good look at the other man. That did not explain his stillness, but maybe Ken was less fidgety when he was tired.

          My mind had started to weave some of its desperate partial-memories together into more cohesive threads of thought. Ken and the crappy bed in the strange room gave me Kendal and the medical trial. I also remembered drifting off to sleep, listening to the others already breathing the deep, steady breaths of sleep, behind their privacy curtains. I had muzzily thought that I had been the last to settle down and that it was just greater proof that I was much younger and more vibrant than the other people in my room. I had guessed it was close to midnight, however Kendal had made me stow my phone with the rest of my personal gear and they did not provide any clocks, so it could have been earlier, or later... then dark sleep… then the shaking and Ken’s raspy-voice.

          Had Ken’s voice been so tortured, yesterday? It did not seem right, as so much did not. Plus, the rest seemed far more pressing, even more pressing than hunger or sore muscles.

          Looking around, it dawned on me that the bed I was in seemed weird for a reason other than it was not my bed, in the university dorms. When our group of volunteer guinea-pigs had realized that 106 was to be our room, for the whole weekend, I had selected one of the four beds under a window. The windows were barred and only looked out onto Kendal's side parking-lot and the blank yellow-beige wall of the neighboring office-building, but it was at least something more to look at than just the dreary room we had been assigned. Yet, as I came slowly to slightly more consciousness, I saw that I was in a bed on the opposite side of the room. So, my disorientation seemed to resurface in waves, making me feel queasy.

Then again, the mustiness of the blanket I was on may have been to blame, for my nausea. Only, I had gotten into my blankets and they had smelled freshly laundered… So, had Ken moved me?... and beat me up, without waking me? I could not remember ever aching so much.

          Other data filtered through, in new disorienting waves. Room 106 had been set up like a hospital, or barracks style layout. Eight single sized beds, each with a nightstand (one shallow drawer) and a barely-padded chair. The furnishings were not hospital grade, though; more like Ikea or Wal-Mart brands, at best. Although, each sleeping area did have a mint-colored hospital-style “privacy” curtain. There was also a long white-plastic folding table and matching chairs in the center of the room, between the two rows of beds. Otherwise, the room was bare, off white in color (both the painted cinder block walls and the linoleum floors), dominated by the slight buzz of overhead florescent lights, chilly, and smelling of cleaning fluids.

At least, that is how the room had been. As my senses came more awake, 106 was seriously different; beds jostled out of place (one was even upended against a wall), leaves on the floor, curtains missing, window blinds missing or at cockamamie angles, only six beds instead of eight, the bed on which I sat was the only one with a blanket, no sign of chairs or table, only one nightstand with a lamp (no shade, but the bulb produced weak, yet harsh, light) and the like. Plus, the floor had muddy tracks, the chill had turned outright cold, and the only smells were of must and stale dirt.

          Grimy footprints on the linoleum led my eyes to my own bare and muddy sore feet. I had fallen asleep in the scrubs and little no-skid socks which the clinic nurses had provided. The nurse assistants had collected all of our personal belongings, in well-labeled totes, insisting that regulations required we wear the lightweight hospital garments.

Again, that was then. Looking down, blue-cotton pant legs were tattered, almost to my knee and they were dirty all over. My mud-caked feet looked and felt as if I had hiked a thousand miles, through rocky swamps. I had no shirt, leaving my chest, arms, and back scratched and as dirty as my legs, again presumably from an impossible swamp trek.

          I saw the evidence, felt the grit and sores, smelled the earthiness, however I still could not quite absorb what any of it meant. I did not even feel as if it was so terribly wrong. I did know that many things were wrong, I simply could not get my head around the sheer number of problems. Of course, I had only been up for a minute or so, so I had every reason to expect to become more enlightened as time progressed.

          In addition to the dour-faced Ken, I also noted several other people in the room. 106 had three doors, one to the hall, one to the unisex toilet, and a windowless-steel emergency-exit direct to the rear of the building. To either side of the dull-brown emergency door, two large bodies slumped. I could not see them clearly in the gloom, yet some synapses fired in my brain, telling me the two men were the fireman and the engineer… Hank and Leroy. At least, I was almost certain about their names. The last two people in the room were women, Solanna and Gerri, again I felt as if I might be getting the names wrong somehow, yet counted myself lucky for being able to fish anything out of the disorienting waves of confusion.

Gerri, one of those super-rare breath-takingly gorgeous woman, in spite of not wearing makeup and dressing plain, was passed out in the bed next to me, which I was pretty sure was not where she had chosen the night before. The chatty blond Lit-major, Solanna, was lurking over Gerri and trying to rouse the woman, as Ken had done for me.

          All of my roommates looked as tired and beat up as I did. Although myself and the big black guy, Leroy, and the muscly Hank were the only ones missing shirts. Could we have been playing some sort of team sport outside? Touch football, shirts versus skins...? In the middle of the cold October night...? I could only squint at the unlikeliness of it all.

          Also why had Kendal put men and women in the same room? I vaguely remembered the two talkative participants, Hank and Solanna, commenting on how strange it was while we sat around the day before. We had all sort of assumed that we had been sent into room 106 to change into our scrubs (taking turns in the small toilet (no bathtub or shower), then they would sort us out more later. Only the longer we sat around waiting for our doses of the test meds, the more it became clear that we would all be sharing the room the whole time… Yet, for some reason none of us thought to mention it to the staff…

          "Huh?" I said, as my wandering and wondering mind realized that Ken and Solanna had been talking to me.

          "Are you okay? What's the last thing you remember?" the brownish-gray haired man repeated.

          "I… I think so." I ran my hands over more of my body, looking for any serious damage. "The last thing I remember… was getting under my covers and going to sleep. I think it was close to midnight."

          Solanna cut in. "Did you see the nurse with the slugs?!... Wait, no of course not. You were the first one she hit." She looked worse than Ken. I had thought the lady looked pleasantly plump the day before, like maybe she never quite dropped her freshman twenty, yet still curvy rather than doughy. However, by the so called illumination of that one small lamp, Solanna looked almost dead, sunken eyes within dark circles, hollow cheeks, limp and tangled hair, and she even seemed thinner.

          Enough of my cognitive abilities had fired up to tell me that it was impossible that Solanna was thinner after one night. One partial night, because it was still very dark outside the three barred and wire reinforced safety windows. I had to be experiencing optical illusions, from the bad lighting and my own fatigue. Unless, I was drunk or drugged? Maybe I was having a bad reaction to the test medicine.

          Gerri sat up and was looking around, my spluttering memory claimed that she was another student and in the military ROTC program. Oddly, the attractive woman did not look as bad off as the rest of us. Gerri, of course, remained a petite five-foot-three and pale skinned. The day before, Gerri had dressed in crisply starched dress shirt and slacks, with shoulder length brunette-hair almost as severe and no make-up, even so she had clearly been classically pretty. Gerri had seemed like a real life version of that movie trope, of the girl that is plain, until she just removed her glasses and lets her hair down—only anyone with eyes can tell how hot she is, from the start.

In the gloom and through my addled eyes, the vaguely militant woman looked more fresh, like a teen. Gerri’s tousled hair seemed red, instead of brown, and there seemed to be delicate freckles on the creamy cheeks of her heart-shaped face, where none had been before. I blinked many times, trying to clear my vision, to no avail. Even Gerri's scrubs seemed cleaner and more form fitting, than any of the rest of us, and the only mud on her appeared to be an artful smudge on one smooth cheek.

          Either Gerri’s ROTC training helped her recovery, or she was just luckier than the rest of us, because she sprang awake and got her bearings faster than me. Gerri reached out and gently stroked Solanna's arm, "Hey, slow down." She glanced at Ken and me, her green eyes actually found enough illumination to sparkle. "You two should check on them." Gerri nodded to the men on the floor by the emergency-exit. Then the unbelievably well off woman turned to Solanna and spoke soothingly for a bit.

          Ken moved towards Leroy and I headed for Hank. The two men were practically slumbering giants. Ken was a giant too, for that matter, as far as I was concerned. I was just over six-foot tall and every other man in the room was at least two or three inches taller than me. Leroy blew the curve, at easily six-four.

Additionally, Hank, like Gerri, belonged in movies, preferably set on beaches; he had not so subtly mentioned being selected for the fireman's calendar three years running. The forty-something fireman had a chiseled jaw, rock hard muscles, good hair with just a touch of gray at the temples, and a great tan—in Ohio… at the end of October. Life was so unfair to those of us built like… well, one unkind girl had said that I looked like I was made of broomsticks and tennis balls.

          Hank was so perfect that even his reason for volunteering for the Kendal study had seemed designed to melt people's hearts. The rest of us were all students at the university--Solanna and I were Literature majors (though, she was a Grad student and I was just starting), Leroy studied Engineering, and Gerri in ROTC (something Officers’ Training something… for pre-military service, right?...I would have to look it up later). Thanks to some clerical error, our financial aid disbursements had been seriously delayed, leaving us in need of stop-gap living expenses. So, volunteering for a clinical trial that paid $1050, for a few weekends worth of sitting around to be monitored, was a no brainer. Except for Ken, who was a fencing instructor at Ohio University, but needed the money because of his "bitch ex" and his own "incompetent Lawyer". Hank, on the other hand, had claimed to need extra cash in order to help his elderly twin sisters with their rent. The calendar model had even said, "I usually just get a side job with some of the other firemen, hanging drywall or building decks. But there just weren't any jobs, right now."

          I had found it very hard to sympathize with the near-Adonis. Until, that is, I knelt down and shook the civil servant's bare shoulder. Hank looked bad, like maybe he had fallen face first into the mud and it had dried on him. Plus, the odd lighting made his tan seem much more orangey. Even when I touched Hank's skin it felt coarse and dry and almost as cold as the wall, on which I braced my other hand. Luckily, the big guy came awake with very little effort on my part. Hank was another one who easily shook off any sleepiness.

          Meanwhile, Ken had roused Leroy. The African-American man was not just tall, he was wide. When we had selected our beds from the singles offered, Leroy had not complained, but he had not fit either, feet stuck off the end and arms and waist draped over the sides. Leroy had been super-quiet; even so the easy charm of Hank and bubbly chitchat from Solanna had drawn all of us into conversation at some point during the long hours that we had waited for our doses, without any other entertainment. Leroy eventually told us that he was an engineering major and his physique had made more sense to me, he really looked like someone that spent a lot of time sitting at a screen, either drafting plans or playing video games, or both consecutively. Of course, Leroy also looked off in the bad lighting, only he (like Gerri) seemed healthier somehow… something about the way he moved and stood… Plus, as much as Solanna seemed paler than the previous day, Leroy seemed darker.

          Such disparate input caused me to more closely examine the thoughts chaotically careening around my noggin. My best efforts concluded that of bad lighting and extreme fatigue were combining to produce mild hallucinations. I kept the adverse effect of drugs, from the clinical trial, as a possible factor as well. My spine ran cold at the thought of concussion, so I willfully avoided that.

          I was somewhat heartened that, once all six of us were conscious, it was clear that each of us were having similar disorientations, from our tentative body postures and the questions we rattled off. Since none of us were firing on all cylinders, it quickly turned into a conversational roller coaster, of everyone expecting answers from the rest and no-one fully listening.

"Are you okay?" "What happened?" "What do you remember?" "Did you see the nurse putting giant slugs on our mouths?" "What happened to the room?" "Is this the same place?" "What time is it?" "Where's our stuff?" "How did I get over here?" "What do you mean slugs?" "What happened to my slippers?" "Why are we all scratched up?" and so on.

          Standing in a loose circle, in the middle of the mostly dark room, one or another of us would pace out or back, with occasional frustration or confusion. We all shivered in the cold, however under the circumstances clothing was relegated to a low priority. If nothing else, I was worried about falling asleep again and the crisp air helped to keep me conscious, if not alert.

          Part of me knew that I should be more upset or panicked, as we kept talking over each other. However, instead, the babbling outside my head seemed to create some kind of pacifying harmony with my interior confusion. Thus, allowing some more of my recent memories to codify.

          In particular, everyone’s full names bubbled to the surface, helped along by the way in which we were addressing each other. Solanna had been the one to insist “full names are more interesting” and "besides, I might want to send everyone a Christmas email, or something", when we had been sitting around the currently missing folding-table. Sociable extroverts always say and do stuff like that, which is impressive since I never had the energy for it. On the other hand, something in the names still sounded off to me.

          Here is the thing about our names, since that day, I have learned how valuable such things as True Names are. So, I shall continue using the moniker I have established for a while, in spite of how it affects my overall tale. If you, dear reader, want to know any of our True Names, then you shall have to find us and bargain for each in turn. I guarantee that mine, at least, is no longer for sale as cheap as $1050.

          In any event, our sextet sorted a few details out; too few really, however it was the best we could do. We were all sore, tired, and hungry, as if we had been doing a lot of manual labor, for a long time. One of the others did eventually mention that our appearances looked as messed up as the room—confirming that the others saw the same things, which I had been considering hallucinations. Solanna seemed especially bad off, appearing sickly and thinner, although she did not profess any greater discomfort. Hank's tan looked more like a bad spray-on, Leroy's skin seemed darker—more like true black than dark brown—Ken appeared more weathered, leathery and older, Geri still, somehow, looked more disheveled than beaten—almost like a television star version of messed up—and her hair was shimmery and dark red. By the report of the other five, I had fared almost as well as Gerri, they said I looked more athletic and that my shaggy brown hair had lightened, also that I was both tan and paler somehow. As I looked at each of them, I could almost see how I knew they were supposed to look in a sort of double-exposed vision of how my addled mind was seeing them.

          On top of everything else, I noticed that I kept trying to stand straighter, feeling as if I were slouching for some reason. Until, I realized I had not been slouching, rather I felt like the others had grown—some more than others—just enough to make me feel like my head was lower than it should be. When I made the observation known, they all nodded and agreed that it was I who was shorter than the day before.

          "It has to be something to do with the drugs, they gave us." Ken rasped. He had admitted that he heard the change in his voice, but his throat was not sore. "Because, I swear, I am seeing better than I should be able to with just that crappy bulb." He jabbed a thumb at the lamp.

          "So," I mused along, "you think we're more light sensitive?"

          The aged looking man shrugged, "Maybe, but it has to be more to explain the distortions we see."

          "And hear, and feel." I added my observation of Hank's skin texture to Ken’s voice. "Plus, if we're just hallucinating then the room is probably not really messed up, but I can't find the missing beds." I walked into the empty spaces where a bed should have been.

          As a group, we quickly conceded that whatever had happened to us was affecting our perceptions, yet determining our next steps was much more pressing, than arguing the about the cause. We took turns to walk through what each of us remembered last. After I recounted my memory of being last to doze off, Solanna spoke up.

          "I had sort of awoken to roll over." The unhealthy looking woman’s hands were expressive, making a twisting gesture to illustrate roll over, as she recounted with a storyteller's enthusiasm. "I was just drifting off to sleep again, when a nurse entered the room, quietly pushing a cart with what seemed like jars on it." Pushing gesture. "At least I saw the jars eventually, because I did not bother sitting up right away." the lady's sunken eyes panned the rest of us as she spoke. "Anyway, she went around to each of you and did something near your heads." Solanna mimed hunching over a bed.

          "At first I thought it was just another round of pills." Part of the drug study we had signed up for meant that we had to take a set of pills every few hours. "So, I figured I would stay put and wait my turn…"

          Solanna pursed her thin lips to one side and scrunched her brow in thought. "The thing is, Gerri was in the bed next to me and we had not bothered with the dividing curtain." Gerri nodded as she also recalled that detail and the Lit GA continued. "And there was light from the parking lot coming through the windows." Pale finger pointed to the windows.

          No such illumination was accompanying our confused cabal. The self-same windows provided a hint of light, although nothing near as strong as a parking lot lamp, anywhere nearby.

          "So," Solanna went on, "I could see Gerri's sleeping face turned towards me. The nurse got Gerri second to last. I thought she was going to gently wake Gerri and give her some pills. I could just make out the nurse placing something glistening wet over Gerri's nose and mouth."

          The storyteller met each of our eyes again, her own darkly-circled orbs wide with a mixture of conviction and pleading. "I freaked. I jumped out of bed and tried to run for the hallway," A sweeping gesture to the relevant door. "I could tell you all had large clear-ish slugs on your faces," A pause to let that sink in.

          "The bitch nurse grabbed me and tried to slap one of the slimy things on my mouth too." Solanna's nose wrinkled in disgust. "She missed my face and it hit my back. I felt drugged immediately and stumbled." She wobbled her whole body as an example. "Before I knew it, she got one over my nose and mouth and I blacked out."

          "Then I woke up in the wrong bed, in this ransacked room, and started waking you." Solanna concluded by waving towards Ken.

          There was a long pause. I do not think any of us fully believed her any more than we believed what our own eyes had been reporting. It was most likely the sickly woman was just hallucinating worst than the rest of us. Yet, none of us had any better explanation. Not that Solanna's story explained all that much, even if true and accurate.

          Gerri broke the silence, her bell-clear voice soft as a breeze, "Well, the nurse isn't here now. We've been up for almost fifteen minutes, by my reckoning, and no one has arrived. The only things I've heard outside of this room are those dogs."

          Many dogs could be heard yipping and baying not too far away. I had not registered the canines until Gerri mentioned them, but then realized that I had been hearing them pretty much the whole time. I sighed with involuntary relief, as my eyes verified the fire-door was firmly shut.

          "So," Gerri continued, her legs slightly apart and planted firmly and her hands clasped behind her back (even exhausted, I had to look away to not be distracted by what the stance did to her ample chest). "We need to assess what we do have to work with, see if there is anyone else in the building, and hopefully find a phone to call for help."

          Hank readily and heartily agreed. The rest of us were relieved to be able to defer to the fireman and ROTC cadet as experts on this matter. The immediate inventory was sparse. No one had any footwear, although we were all muddy to mid-calf as well as our arms to the elbows. The mud smelled dank and vegetal and was still fairly damp. There was just enough musty blankets, sheets, and privacy curtains left to provide those of us without shirts some upper body protection and foot wrappings for the two ladies. Hank and Ken had both wanted a makeshift weapon, for some reason, however all of the furniture proved to be far too flimsy. Even the lamp was lightweight plastic.

          We could only guess at the time. Room 106 was on the ground floor of the two story building and at a back corner. Our three barred windows still only looked out to a neighboring blank brick wall. The buildings were backed by lawn which led to a tributary of the Hocking River. Therefore, we were unable to see the road, to judge traffic flow, and the incessant hounds barking and howling prevented listening for the same. Not that the road had seemed well traveled, when we had all arrived. So, our collective best guess was based solely on the apparently full darkness outside, indicating that it was nowhere near dawn.

          The next (what seemed like) few hours were like a horror movie come to life, one of those you-never-quite-see-it kinds. Our exhaustion and odd sensory distortions adding to the eeriness. Although, the so-called hallucinations remained very consistent, even the being able to see better than we should with no proper light source. Which part of me said was even more odd, as I had been under the impression that hallucinations would come and go, over time.

          For the record, I have long since learned that I was mistaken about how hallucinations can manifest. Not that it was ultimately applicable, either way, as you shall also discover if you continue reading.

          Outside, the howling dogs seemed close, closer than the nearest residential area, at least. So, added to the general tension and being barely garbed, none of us were eager to go out into the dark autumn night.

          We stayed together as a group and searched the building. It was abandoned, no phones, computers, files, or much of anything-- definitely no people, at least not on the ground and second floors. No response came to our calling down the stairwell, to the basement, and our apprehension by then had kept any of us from suggesting a subterranean excursion. By then, I was pretty certain, that all of my companions shared my horror-movie vibe.

          While investigating, I kept getting brief reinforcing flashes of how the place had been, what could have only been hours ago. The tiled floors, plaster walls, and drop ceilings had all been clean and off-white, albeit to a nearly beige dinginess from age. The generic office spaces had been repurposed for semi-medical use, narrow beds instead of cubical-farms, extra toilets instead of storage closets, and so forth. The whole building had smelled of antiseptic mixed with human body odors, like most any clinics or old age home.

          Our once-over revealed that the building was not only apparently abandoned, it seemed to have been so for months or more—dust covered everything and the air smelled musty, like an attic. The heating system seemed to be functioning, yet set somewhere in the low sixties. None of us noticed any thermostat controls, so we did a lot of shivering in our ragged-clothed states.

          The one remotely good thing we did find—well, Leroy found---in the back of a high closet shelf, was some spare scrubs. Some of the other ward-style rooms also produced a couple more cheap blankets. Although, Hank also found one of the larger-style fire extinguishers and started carrying it around. No-one questioned the weightlifter about his acquisition, he clearly felt that the extinguisher might be a usable weapon and that seemed to raise his spirits. I had to smile as well, whenever I glimpsed the muscleman poised with the red cylinder, imagining the hilarity of exactly how such a fight would play out.

          Gerri had insisted that we “sweep” the building from top down, so we did not discover the one technically used room, until the end of our tour. At the far end of the building, nearest the main entrance, room 101 was full of clear-fronted industrial-sized refrigeration units. Each fridge was filled with packets of bright-red blood or plasma, with Red Cross labels. There were pick up/drop off logs hanging on each storage unit.

          Ken inspected one of the logs. "Here's something worth noting. Someone seems to access these units roughly every six months." The rest of us blinked at the dour man, he rolled his tired eyes and went on. "The last one was in early September… 2016, effectively fourteen-years after our check in date." I got chills that had nothing to do with the temperature, then Ken concluded. "And this log goes back a over five-years."

          "So," Hank asked from near the door—he had taken to acting like a sentry as we investigated the various rooms, "they've been collecting blood for a long time? Kendal is a medical company, it seems like that's up their alley."

          "This wasn't here yesterday.” Ken shook his head and replaced the clipboard. “I distinctly remember other participants being assigned to room 101."

          "Hey, yeah," Gerri wagged a pointing finger at Ken, "you're right. In fact there were eight people to a room, except for us in the last one assigned."

          Hank snapped his fingers, “The furnace!” he went on to explain, while walking. “Ventilation systems require regular checks. Especially, if this is a legit bio-storage building, the inspector will have marked the furnace door.”

Several of us were clinging to the hopes that this was a practical joke, maybe a reality TV gimmick. The furnace showed last checked October 13th, 2016. That was too much, for me. We had checked in on Friday October 25th, 2002. The idea that a prank would be that thorough was not possible to accept. I had to go. Without even a word or gesture, I turned heel and speed-walked away. I was only vaguely aware that the others trailed after me.

          My mind reeled again. Well, in all honesty since my wild attempts to make sense of what was going on had barely slowed, it would be more accurate to say that my mind reeled _more haphazardly_. Oh **,** and I was not exactly surefooted physically. I kept trying to think of something that would make sense. All my thoughts turned out like the prank idea—evidence sort of fit to a point, then something would happen to disprove the idea. I felt like I was trapped in my own head, running in broken logic circles. The abandoned building only made it worse.

          While trying to keep my breathing from going full-on hyperventilation, I grabbed one of the blankets we had found and used a screw in one of the broken beds, to make strips of cloth. Then I bound up my feet, as best I could.

          The baying of the hounds had faded into the distance. Which may have subconsciously added to my impetus to leave. It was still dark outside, though.

          Looking through the windows which did face the road, had confirmed that the parking-lot lights were out, however across the road and down a-ways, there seemed to be a convenience store. We had all agreed that the store had not been there the day before. So, it had been largely dismissed as probable hallucination. However, in light of a preponderance of evidence, I had decided to believe my eyes, at least as far as a lit storefront was concerned.

          My cronies just followed me and watched my frantic foot-wrapping actions.

"I'm getting the hell out of here,” I jerked my head toward the front of the building, “and over to that Liquor store." I spoke while watching what I was doing with my feet. "They have power and must have a phone."

          The other five people nodded almost dazedly and set to bundling their own feet and wrapping themselves in blankets, to the extent our “supplies” would allow.

          Earlier Gerri and Hank had advocated for staying inside until morning, just to see better, if no other reason. The wildly barking canines were emphatically not mentioned. I simply could not wait any longer, though. Part of me even believed that dawn would never come, by that point.

Looking back, I am glad that the others all chose to come with me, rather than waiting for daylight. Especially, because when the hounds returned, I would not have been able to deal with them on my own.

          As much as I wanted to believe that we were sharing mass-hallucinations, from whatever pills we had been given, I did not quite buy it. I could not shake the idea that, if I was hallucinating, then why was the pain, cold, hunger, and sense of time passing so consistent with my normal expectations and what my companions were reporting? It made me think of the old adage, "Only sane people worry that they are crazy"…or was it a fallacy, not an adage?

 

The six of us made it to the convenience store and, thankfully, a smaller black "24 hrs" was painted below the large red "Liquor", on the backlit yellow sign. The store's parking area had one flickering lamp and the big yellow and red sign clearly needed most of its fluorescent-tubes replaced. So, far better illuminated than the Kendal building, however still quite shadowy by comparison to the BP station, one lot further on, lit like a beacon for astronauts to see. At least what could be seen of the liquor store's interior seemed well lit.

          Gathering in the weak pool of flickering light, we assessed our situation. "You all realize," Ken rubbed his hands together for warmth, "we look pretty ridiculous, right? What's the clerk going to think if we all go in?"

          Appraising each one another, I nodded agreement. "Yeah we look like a gang of homeless people."

          "Or asylum escapees." Gerri said somberly while vigorously rubbing her upper arms

          "So," Hank proposed, "maybe we don't all go in? One or two will seem less threatening."

          "Hey," Solanna had wandered closer to the entrance and was pointing to the newspaper vending boxes; "I know someone mentioned Kendal may have been a prank show or something with the fake dates and stuff. But these papers say it's Monday, November 7th 2016 and they might still be yesterday's."

          Which seemed to sink in with some of my colleagues in a way that the furnace log had done for me. Unfortunately the continuing confusion and fatigue merely caused the revelation to produce a distracted argument over what the dates meant, mixed with what we should do next.

          From my perspective, whether it was 2002 or 2016, it was still definitely a bitter pre-dawn autumn morning. Even with the lack of any breeze, it was still far too cold to be standing around, in what amounted to raggedy pajamas. Plus, the sounds of what we were guessing to be a wild dog pack seemed closer again. Not to mention how painfully numb my feet had become.

          I threw up my hands and entered the small shop with an exasperated sigh, not caring if my companions joined me. The door had bells that jangled. I blinked at how little my eyes twinged as they adjusted. The aroma that enveloped me was a not wholly unpleasant blend of dust, cardboard, old tobacco smoke, and warm spices. Most importantly it was warm, my feet tingling back to life almost immediately.

          There were no other patrons. A grandmotherly-looking Asian lady sat behind the counter watching some talk show on a tiny old tube-television. There was a longhaired dog near the door. Around the size of a terrier, the canine was that Asian breed which looks more like a lion than a dog and it had three tails. I took a half-step away from the dog’s extra tails, before figuring that it could have been a genetic defect (like multi-dactyl cats), if I was not simply just seeing things. As I tried to get my bearings, the aged animal shakily stood and started breathing hard at me, not exactly a growl, yet certainly not inviting.

          All of my coincidental companions remained outside. The single glass door was so plastered with various advertisements that I had no idea what the others were doing, or even if they had remained. Part of me imagined that the group had thought that I looked most needy—like a grown up Dickensian orphan, in my rags—so they estimated that me alone would garner the most sympathy and assistance. A larger part of me figured that they all wanted to see how badly I would crash and burn, before they made an effort.

          Staying by the door, I called to the woman, "Excuse me."

          The clerk barely glanced at me, over her shoulder and through coke-bottle glasses. "You go!" She barked in a thick accent, that I guessed was Chinese.

          Meanwhile, the dog was staying in place, but getting larger. It was waist high and increasing. My stomach lurched and my mind flipped—not for the first time since waking. I would have run screaming, if the night had not seemed like a more threatening vast-emptiness. Instead, I told myself that the inflating dog was another trick of my mind, I also suspected that I was lying to myself.

          I kept my eyes on the creature and gave communication with the old lady one last valiant effort. "Er…"

          "Nothing here for you! You go!" The woman snapped again. Not even looking away from the late-night commercial programming this time.

          As far as I could tell, the dog continued to pulse, like a wheezing heart. On every other breath the furry thing was bigger than the last. It had increased almost to my shoulder. I backed out of the store, to another accompanying bell jangle, and closed the door.

          My mind whirled and slammed disparate images and ideas together, looking for any pieces that fit. The six of us really did look like asylum escapees, so maybe we really were mad. Maybe Kendal was a mental hospital, the whole time, with the drug study being as much a shared delusion as everything else…

          The wild-pack howled again, from somewhere beyond the river, behind the Kendal building, as best as I could tell. I found it hard to believe that I could imagine a sound that made my spine and organs so thoroughly tight.

          The other five members of my party reacted less severely to the baying, instead prompting me for a report, since they could not hear what had gone on within the store. I complied quickly and encouraged moving on to the BP. However, I saw in their faces that none of them believed me any more than we had believed Solanna about her transparent slugs, particularly when I described the inflating dog. So, after a brief discussion Ken and Gerri decided to try their luck, in the liquor-store. I hung around out front, curious to see how well the duo would fair, but mostly unwilling to strike out alone into even the small patch of darkness between the store and gas station.

          If all went well Ken and Gerri would convince the shopkeeper to call the police. However, I expected to wind up at the BP, hoping for a rare pay-phone, or perhaps a more accommodating clerk. I reflected on how much resistance I had received from my bedraggled associates, when I suggested the cops. Even fireman Hank had been leery. I heard a lot of variations on, “they’ll lock us up”, or “they’ll put us in a loony ward, looking like this”.

          I agreed that without money to pay for the use of a phone or taxi our options were severely limited and our lack of IDs may cause some difficulties with the police. Absurdly concerned with appearances, some of the others started proposing elaborate scenarios in which we were mugged, or Kendal had put us into comas, or so on.

I had stuck to my guns, though, reiterating variations on, “The police are there to help people, regardless of why the people need help. Worst-case scenario, the cops put us in a drunk tank, or a homeless shelter and let social services deal with our story, or maybe we do end up in a loony-bin for a couple of days of observation. No matter what, each case means a warm place, with other people, and probably food, clothes, and a cot.”

In the end the others had agreed with me, albeit seemingly from lack of energy to fight about it. Not that it really mattered, as I was going to call the police as soon as I could get my hands on a working phone, period.

          Even so, while Gerri and Ken tried to get the obstinate shopkeeper to help, Hank and Solanna continued suggesting unlikely stories for the police. Leroy mostly just leaned back, on the lamppost, and sort of watched the road. Like Leroy, I ignored the talkers, even if they were serious about corroborating stories, I saw no value in it, as I would not be lying to law enforcement for these strangers.

          Instead, I stayed as much in the middle of our group as possible and tried to stay alert, while chasing more and more fanciful options for what could have happened to us. Since all of my reasonable ideas had broken down, I fell back on the old Sherlock Holmes-ism "…eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth." I turned to fiction for inspiration; we could be in a mass Bourne Identity deal, maybe Kendal was a front for alien experimentation, and so forth. Of all the conspiracies that I came up with, the ones that seemed most likely were the hallucinogens. Either, it was a Total Recall variation, where I was really still in Kendal and merely imagining the weirdness. In which case, all of the people that I was with were manifestations of my own psyche. Which would probably explain why we all saw the same messed up stuff. Or, we had broken out of Kendal, but the hallucinations made us see tattered clothes, distorted bodies, wrong dates, and so on. For the next few hours, the back of my mind vacillated to and fro believing one or the other of the these possibilities.

          After our two ambassadors had been gone for maybe a minute, those of us huddled outside could hear Ken’s indistinct yelling, through the muffling glass-door. I cringed, as the yelling seemed to go on for quite some time, and I expected Ken and Gerri to come piling out any second, with a gorilla-sized dog chasing them. Even so, I also hoped that Ken’s threatening behavior would provoke the old clerk to call the police.

          Yet, when the pair came out, their pace was unhurried. Ken had a new T-shirt—depicting a cartoon snowboarding penguin—on over his scrubs, a brown cap—with "HEAVY METAL TRUCKER" printed in bold orange letters—and a quart of Tangle Ridge whiskey.

          I looked at the duo, with wide expectantly hopeful eyes. Gerri saw me and

her cupid-doll lips quirked down at the corners, while bowing and shaking her head slightly.

          Ken pointed back at the store, with the same hand holding the booze. "I can't believe that woman. I was sure stealing would have prompted her to call the cops." He held the bottle for display and pulled at his new shirt with his other hand. "But, no. She just stared and said 'You go. You go.' He shook his head.

          Looking back, as I do now, I believe that the elderly store owner honestly thought we were safer without Athens' authorities involvement. I still absolutely disagree with the assessment. Although, I do not begrudge the sentiment.

          The baying hounds sounded again, closer, like definitely on our side of the river and possibly just the other side of the abandoned Kendal building. I startled once more, dogs should not be roaming wild in a pack in Athens Ohio and they certainly should not be willing to cross wide rivers. I walked quickly to the BP and my party followed without comment. I felt a small twinge of relief upon entering the halogen glare that scoured the pumps and three quarters of the cashier station, not enough to relax my shoulders though.

 

It was a small station. The clerk (an African American lad) was inside a little booth of bulletproof glass, reading a textbook. The booth was barely bigger than the clerk and had a slot for passing money, cigarettes, and lottery tickets back and forth. The booth nestled within a slightly larger room, which had just enough space for several glass fronted refrigerators full of beverages, and maybe two or three people.

I nodded thoughtful approval, upon spotting the attendant’s physics textbook. I reasoned that the book indicated, at the very least, that the young man was smart enough to be in college. Thus, probably more susceptible to reasoning, than had been the old Asian lady.

          This time Solanna joined me in entering. The two of us endeavored to make ourselves look as pathetic as possible, a very simple task at that point. I asked the attendant, "Could you, please, call the police. My… associates and I are victims of a crime."

          I saw no need to go into any details with the stranger in the gas station. However, I also attempted to plant the idea that we were victims, not criminals. Especially, since when the lad had looked up, he almost jumped back at the sight of our little gang.

          "Uh…" I had never seen a black man as nervous as this lad and he was behind ballistic panels. Of course, Solanna was next to me and the clerk may have thought that she was dying, from her appearance. The fellow eventually continued his sentence, "um, yeah dude, sure. I’ll call the police, that's a good idea."

          The clerk pulled out a device which turned out to be a cell phone and made the call. I liked tech stuff, but had never seen a cell like that one; there were no buttons, just a screen which he worked by touch. I stared fixedly, while my mind raced, pushing forward the facts that if a phone like that existed and was affordable to a student that had to work a night shift, then technology was clearly more advanced than 2002.

          In the meantime, outside of the small service building, Gerri, Ken, and Leroy sat on the small curb on the side of the structure, while Hank stood like a superhero before them, cradling his mighty fire extinguisher under one arm. Ken and Gerri sat hunched forward and side-by-side passing the now open Tangle Ridge between themselves. Leroy leaned back against the glass and may well have been catching little catnaps. When Solanna and I rejoined the others to share our news of success, the large black man remained stoically uncommunicative, although we would come to realize that was simply his way, so he may have been awake for all I could tell.

          Hank was talking to the drinkers, "It won't help our case with the cops." He said. Of course this was from a man dressed as an escaped mental patient and carrying around a fire extinguisher for quote-protection-end-quote.

          Solanna simply cut into the conversation and announced that the police were on their way. Both Ken and Gerri still had pinched eyebrows and sour expressions from dealing with the liquor store clerk. So, the sociable blond may have been trying to head off an argument.

          I had been caught up in something I had seen. However, Solanna's interjection and my own musings were set aside, because Gerri jumped up and pointed to the patch of trees and scrub behind the stations little building. The hounds had arrived; they amassed without sound in the woodland-like underbrush, and only their eyes could be seen—a foot or more above the ground, reflecting the red light. I shuddered, as it seemed like more light was shining from those dozens of eyes than was available in the environment.

          We all moved with caution to the front of the building, Solanna and I going so far as to re-enter the mini-store. After only a moment, Gerri came in, grabbed a couple of beef jerky sticks from a plastic bucket which was on the tiny shelf, on our side of the reinforced glass, said "sorry" to the attendant, and went back out and around the side of the building.

          For all of his fire-extinguisher posturing, Hank barely moved enough to see whence Gerri had gone. Which was more than could be said for any of the rest of us. When the militaristically inclined woman returned to the front of the station, I cracked the door open enough to be able to hear what she had to say.

          The pink had drained from Gerri's face and her bright green eyes seemed more unsettled than before. "There's something wrong with those dogs."

          "What do you mean?" Ken's dry voice was clinically flat.

          "I figured I could see what they were like. I mean like breed, or whatever." Gerri shrugged. "I stayed in the light and tossed a piece of jerky outside the pool of light, but away from the trees. Then an emaciated hunting hound, maybe greyhound mixed with a heavier breed, came out." She swallowed hard and glanced to where the dog had been. "It must have been the alpha male, 'cause when the others started to follow, he gave them a look and bared his teeth, as if he was growling, but no sound came out. Then, none of the others left the wood cover." Gerri hugged herself and started rubbing her biceps. "The alpha moved to the jerky and was looking around, like it was checking to make sure it was not in site of the clerk or any of the security cameras…" She nodded to the respective locations. "If that's even possible. Anyway, it gets to the jerky, sniffed the treat, stared at me—and I mean right into my eyes—then urinated on the jerky." Another apprehensive glance to the side.

          "The thing is," Gerri got quieter, "I got the feeling it knew exactly what it was doing. Not like a trick or something, more like it was challenging me."

So, if Solanna and I were actually crazy, then at least our ranks were growing… Not a comforting thought, I chewed my lip. Meanwhile, Ken tried to reassure Gerri, and the rest of us, by claiming that she was just over-tired.

          After about fifteen very long minutes of nervous silence and tensely watching the surrounding shadows, a patrol car did pull into the oasis of bright light. One officer was at the wheel, with a man in the back seat. No further sound or movement had been witnessed from the hounds and the overly reflective red-eyes had vanished. Even so, I could tell that my associates believed that the beasts remained nearby, as much as I did.

          The officer remained on the far side of his car and made Hank relinquish his extinguisher. Hank complied, but looked very sad. Then the uniformed man had us all stand with our hands on his vehicle, while he got the clerk's statement. I know I probably would have refused to comply, if the cop had not parked well within the BP's light pool. I would rather have been forced into the car's trunk, than stand around in the dark with those dogs out there.

          As it was, I only regretted not being allowed to sit inside the locked car. I regretted it less when I got a better look at the guy already seated there, though. He was naked, except for a police blanket. I think it was Gerri or Hank who recognized the guy from the clinical trial check-in lines.

The driver's door had been left open, so those of us on that side of the vehicle could converse fairly easily with the passenger, while the officer was occupied with the clerk. His name was Kyle and looked to be average height (around five-ten or eleven), with short, straight, mousy brown hair. Kyle also sported a short cropped mustache and beard, which matched his generally hirsute swimmer’s build. disturbingly, the thirty-something guy also seemed to have long cat-like whiskers jutting from either side of his nose and little rounded tufty ears.

          It made me squint with wonder, over why the old woman, gas station attendant, and policeman all just looked like normal people. Even if hallucinations were that selective, why would my subconscious pick and choose who to make look weird?

          Kyle's manner of speaking took some getting used to as he told us his brief tale. The man seemed to be grinding and gargling his words as they tried to escape his mouth. "Yearrrh, I was urrm at Kendal, yesterrrrday, Rrroom 105. Day irmph seemed norrrrmal rrunough, atrr least, it, urrg, was like urr we werrrre told to expect. Ghrr, we all, hrrmph, went to rrrbed arrround the, urrrf, same time. Rrrr, then I woke rrorgh up on the rrrriver bank, errrrr cold and urr, naked." He gestured to the police issued wooly blanket.

          "I rrr picked myself urgrrup and rrurr headed towarrrrds the nearrrrest buildings with rrr, lights. I mrrph made it rrrto a suburrrb. I was, ghrrh,trying to rrur think what to rrrergh do next, rrrwhen officerrrr Kovacs," he nodded to the policeman talking to the clerk, "rrghph picked me up. Irrm, that was, rrrrh, about five minutes beforrrre he got urrgh, the call, to rrrcome hereere."

          I was able to look into the cruiser without moving my hands and according to the clock on the dashboard; it was close to 5:00 am. I still was not sure if it was Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, 2002, or 2016. At least having a sense of the time of day, afforded me some stable point of reference from which to build upon. A middle-aged man did pull up and deliver new newspapers, though, then headed over to the liquor store to do the same. So, if we had read the date on the earlier papers correctly, then it was somehow Tuesday November 8th 2016.

          Eventually, Kovacs finished with the clerk and resolved to take us into custody; charged us with being a public nuisance and vagrancy. Apparently, the clerk had not wanted to deal with pressing petty theft charges against Gerri. I was almost elated as I imagined that the result would be getting us to a holding cell while we contacted our families to settle any fines. I did not relish having to pay my parents back, however the terrible nightmare I had been living seemed like it might be close to an end.

          I have since learned to avoid such ominous thoughts. I am not certain they affect my future, however I never feel quite as bad when things get worse than when I had imagined them getting better.

          Officer K called a paddy wagon, rather than trying to jam seven of us into his patrol car. By the time the new vehicle arrived and we all (including Kyle) got loaded in, it was after 5:30. I had spent the time fairly zoned out. Having an armed police officer nearby had afforded me enough sense of security that what little adrenalin I had left tapered off dramatically and I mostly just concentrated on staying upright and awake.

          The back of the police van had hard benches, smelled of old vomit and urine, and was poorly heated. On the other hand, it was a chance to sit, get away from the hound pack, and was still warmer than being outside. Due to our sickly appearances (some more than other), Kovacs informed us that procedure required us to be examined by a physician, so we would be stopping at O’Bleness memorial, before the police station. It was after 6:00 am by the time we were unloaded and escorted into the hospital and the sky had started to lighten.

 

 


	2. Day 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning/Apology: the following chapters may contain grammar/spelling fails, due to my vision disability and the limits of spell-checking software. I am, again, looking for beta-editors. I apologize for any inconvenience and will gladly correct any errors which are are brought to my attention--either by comment on this site or via GitariAr@#gmail.com.  
> 

Day1: Tuesday, November 8th (Most Grueling Day Ever)

While standing on the hospital's black-top, waiting for my fellow vagrants to be off loaded from the police vehicle, I had a minute or so to smile and relax a little in appreciation of the sun, rising over the other buildings in town. The sheer normalcy of having the sun rise, at the right time from the east, was disproportionately reassuring—as if part of me had not believe it would happen. Similarly, the physical facts of the newspapers (in spite of their confusing dates), cars, traffic, macadam, the hospital, nurses, pretty much every mundane thing that I saw seemed to make me feel more grounded. Even the less than sympathetic police made me feel like welling-up and hugging them, although I held onto enough sanity to avoid doing either.

          A no-nonsense-looking black male nurse, led the seven of us and our two officer chaperones, into a windowless second floor examination room. If my companions did not share my relief, at least they were all able to stop acting tense and tough. As a group our limping and swaying from aches and fatigue became much more pronounced. O’Bleness was a teaching hospital and the exam-room was one of the larger ones; wherein a handful of Med students could meet as a class and practice on patients, while still being overseen by only one instructor. Our cop guardians watched, as the nurse unlocked a door, pulled out a couple of boxes, then re-locked the closet. To us the nurse indicated the boxes, “Here’s some clean scrubs. And this one has some sponges and towels.”

          After a significant look towards the row of sinks, along one wall, the nurse left to track down a doctor. The policemen followed the nurse out and took up sentry positions at our door.

          The room only had a couple of chairs, however there was three padded exam tables (each with a privacy curtain), counters and cupboards (including three sinks)—mostly locked. Other than the boxes of clothes and washing supplies, we also had access to a few Ace-bandages, cotton balls, a few bed-pans, and a jar of tongue depressors.

          "So, why're we here?" Solana leaned heavily on one of the exam tables. She had started to look even more sickly by the time we arrived at the hospital and had apparently been paying even less attention than me.

          "They," Hank stood with his thick arms crossed near the doors and nodded to indicate the police, "say we have to be checked out for any preexisting wounds or illnesses. Then they'll transfer us to the precinct to process the vagrancy charges." He glowered at me, like it was my fault.

          I did not care. I was warn and about to receive medical attention. Eventually, I would be able to call my folks. I might even be given food at some point. I was more than willing to wait and wade through the bureaucratic red tape.

          "Unless," Gerri had moved to lean back on the same table as Solana, "the doctor decides we're mentally unfit in some way." She gave a little shrug that forced me to try and not think about her lack of bra. "I kind of got the feeling they are hoping that happens."

          Hank nodded, "Yeah If we're classified as unstable, then the cops can give us to a psych center and be done with us. Way less paperwork for them."

          I was still having a hard time thinking clearly, so I could not quite reason my way through which option I would prefer, a couple of days in police custody and fines, or the hassles of proving sanity once the city had me committed. I had heard bad stories about the latter, but they were probably exaggerated. I chewed my upper lip, hoping that I got whatever was easier for my parents to help with.

          Other than Solana, Ken looked the most weary of us, yet he was the first to start cleaning up. The tall, badly weathered man grabbed a set of scrubs, a couple of sponges, a wad of paper towels, and two bed pans. Ken filled one of the bed pans with water from one of the sinks, then carried all of his supplies to the farthest examination table and drew the curtain around it. After about half a minute the rest of us heard water gently sloshing, then a few seconds later the sprinkle of presumably dirty water being squeezed into the empty pan.

          With an approving nod, Gerri grabbed up a enough clothes for two and repeated Ken's other prep, then separated herself and Solana behind another curtain. It was clear that the blond woman was to ill and weak to handle all of her own freshening up, so Gerri had just taken it on herself to help them both.

          Even though, there was one more examination bay, between the two in use, the rest of us silently decided it would be too cumbersome to use it and not accidently spill into either of the others. So, I started in on washing off what I could without disrobing directly in front of one of the sinks. Kyle and Leroy followed suit, while Hank waited patiently. Having access to the running water help speed the process along quite a bit, so when Ken did finish up, the rest of us took far less time with our turns behind the curtain.

          As I scrubbed my face and neck before the small mirror over the sink I had… well, not an epiphany or revelation precisely. It was more like my vision snapped into focus. Maybe the sharp smell of the hospital's cleaning gel-soap woke me up a bit more, or the chance to relax, or I was just too mentally beat to keep fooling myself about dirt and bad lighting creating optical distortions. Whatever the reason, it was my first real conscious processing of how I looked. In particular, I saw and felt the alterations, which my companions had commented on back at the abandoned Kendal building.

I was richly tanned, my skin almost glowed golden—even under the harsh florescent lights. I had never been able to tan so well and usually looked quite pale from sitting indoors and reading so much. My once brown irises now looked like dark golden-orange amber, as if actual rings of amber gemstones had been inset into my eyes. My ears had become pointed, even to my touch they felt tapered to peeked tips, just long enough to poke through my shoulder length hair. My hair, which had been frizzy, limp and unmanageable only a day ago, was the same length as before only much lighter brown, streaked with stripes of bright and natural-looking blond, and so curly-wavy-lustrous that I almost wondered if the mirror was showing me a shampoo commercial.

          Of course, I also only felt like it had been one day. All other evidence so far had claimed it had been seven years. Yet, instead of looking older, even a little bit, I looked younger. Not only was I actually shorter, my skin was smooth and perfect. Gone were the acne scars from my middle-teen years. Gone too was the sun and chlorine damaged skin from my last two summers as a life guard. It was as if a well-bronzed thirteen-year old me had been stretched onto my seventeen year old frame (my final growth spurt had come after high-school). I experienced a flash of panic that I would have to go through some aspect of puberty or more growing pains again.

          All of these assessments and memories sped through my mind at lightning speeds, as I stared into the mirror. Including, that as I watched, my amber-like irises shifted to a more lemony-yellow color with my pleasure at looking so great, then almost red at the unpleasant memory of growing pains. Then, I registered the thing that my peripheral vision had been trying to show me.

          Hank, by the door, and Kyle at the sink next to me. I could not see either man fully in the reflection, however what I did see was clearly the them that they should be. Kyle was far less hirsute and lacked any muscle tone, let alone a professional swimmer's physique. Hank was the kicker, though, because I saw little details that I had forgotten, yet were correct as soon as I saw them again; his nose had an odd crook that made him look even more manly, for instance. Hank’s own tan was back in the mirror (although, mine was better), his muscles looked smooth and well defined, even under the rags and dirt. Admittedly, Hank’s reflection did seem older, however that really could have been the grime.

          I looked around at my companions, then back to the mirror; in the latter, normal people, the former was strange Halloween versions of themselves. Hank looked even more like he was made of rough form reddish-orange clay, I even noticed distinctly yellower bands around his neck and wrists. Kyle looked as if he had come from the Isle of Doctor Moreau, like a half-man-half-rounded-eared-cat… no, an otter! That was absolutely it; Kyle looked half-otter.

          I gripped the counter’s edge with both hands, as my mind reeled. My drugged and hallucinating theory was crumbling, even as I tried to hold it in place. If I only saw people from the Kendal study as transformed and they me, then that made some sort of sense. If seeing all of us in mirrors showed our original appearances, then it was bizarre, yet still followed some consistency. However, mirrors showing me as others described my altered form, yet everyone else as they had been, made no sense to me. Especially, when I added in that Kyle’s appearance had seemed weird, before I knew that he had been a clinical-trial volunteer..

          Maybe that was it, maybe my mind was adding details in the mirrors which were not real. Maybe Hank's nose was not crooked and I only told myself that I remembered it that way and I was making up Kyle whole cloth. I moved around to get a look at Kyle and Leroy, in their own mirrors. Ken happened to open his curtain about then and I saw his reflection, as well. In the looking glasses they all looked normal and they were all staring at me, as if my movements around the room and squinting at the mirrors was odd.

          So, I asked, "Hank, um, how would you describe your face looked before you came to Kendal?"

          The muscly fireman shrugged, "Decent looking, square jaw, strong cheekbones. My nose is a little crooked, from when I broke it, breaking up a bar fight in college. But I think it helps my look, over all." He crossed his arms over his expansive chest. "Why?"

          "One sec." I made a patting gesture and faced our hairiest member. "Kyle, how would you describe your looks before Kendal?"

          Kyle described, in his word-churning manner, the podgy computer engineer which I saw in the mirror. By then Leroy and Ken had caught on and were checking everyone out in the mirrors. Gerri asked what was going on, from behind her partition.

          "The mirrors show me each of your old looks." I replied. "but still show me what you described me to look like now."

          The others fascinated at the various reflections, verified that each saw themselves as altered and everyone else as normal looking. As the group mused aloud about what it might mean, I dumped and refilled the bedpans which Ken had used, then took a new set of scrubs behind the freed-up curtain. I sighed, listening to the others slowly work their ways through all the same speculations that I had already considered.

As I sponged off the parts of me which I had been able to deal with at the sink, my attention was redirected. I discovered several scars on my back, It was hard to get a good angle to see, especially using the bottom of the mostly empty bedpan, however the scars were there and looked well healed—pale with age, on my (all over) golden-tan skin. The worst scar ran, apparently at one time deep and jagged, from my lower back, down most of the length of my left thigh. Even as I trembled, tracing the old wound, I wondered how I could possibly have forgotten such a gash. Then, I swallowed hard wondering if I really wanted to remember.

          By the time I had cleaned and changed—the fresh non-skid slipper-socks, especially comforting—the women had emerged from their partitions. Leroy having taken their place and Hank took mine. Gerri had actually gotten flagging Solana up on the middle exam-table, so she could lie back.

          I mentioned my scarring to the group and the men all started checking themselves, as they had access to a private space. Meanwhile, Gerri said, "I'm fine, but..." she looked to Solana.

          The blond woman looked terrible, she seemed emaciated, her skin almost translucent and pasty, her once golden and wavy hair gone chalk white and jagged like a bird's nest. Solana opened her eyes, their color faded to dusty grey, and she nodded permission to the other lady.

          "Okay then," Gerri went on, "I'm fine, but Solana has tattoos that she doesn't know anything about. They look like some sort of Arabic writing and they run along both sides of her spine." She touched the pale girls hand gently. "That close to the bone must have hurt and all down the back must have taken a long time. But she can't remember anything about it."

          I had been checking the women's reflected selves. Solana's image looked tired, yet otherwise as I had remembered her, curvy, golden tresses, cornflower blue eyes. Gerri's figure was bombshell perfect in both mirror and out; although out everything was a little more firm and perky, as if, like me she had somehow grown younger. The effect was exacerbated, I realized, because her mirror image looked closer to thirty, rather than the twenty-two she had claimed to be during our gathering around the folding table at Kendal. The athletic woman's hair had changed from mousy brown to glossy auburn, her eyes were like emeralds around ebony set into pale ivory. Geri's pristine pale skin fairly glowed with vitality, in stark contrast to Solana's. Plus, the beauteous woman smelled like a bed of flowers and looked like she was wearing rose red lipstick and pale green eye-shadow.

          "Hey, hold on." I asked with all the mounting bemusement I felt, "Gerri, are you wearing make-up?' I checked her reflection and it was as cosmetic free as the rest of us.

          "What? No." The shapely lady was almost indignant as she stomped over to a mirror. After a few seconds of rubbing and then sponge wiping her mouth, cheeks, and eyelids, "I... I don't get it. Did someone tattoo make-up on me?... That is so creepy."

          "Hey," Ken rasped and pointed at me, "What about you Tom." He looked at my reflection in one of the looking glasses. "You weren't tan yesterday, were you?" It almost sounded like an accusation.

          I pulled my head back slightly and blinked at the fencing instructor. "No, not as far as I know. But, I’m not sure if I trust my memories." I brushed my hand down the length of my body as if displaying the obvious. "You think the mysterious tattoo artist gave me an all over tan tattoo?"

          "No." the older man rolled his eyes, which actually now looked metallic grey, "But your reflection is just as tan as the you I am looking at."

          The others, except for Solana, rushed to check my reflection. Then there was another round of what-does-this-mean speculations. Since, no new ideas were coming to light, I spent more time scrutinizing my companions of circumstance for additional anomalies.

          Leroy was another Moreau-escapee, or maybe from the Planet of the Cat People—panther specifically. The man's skin was almost pure black, were his reflection remained dark-brown, with cat-slit eyes of bright minty-green, on a wider face. Triangular ears were set high up Leroy’s head and twitched and pivoted, to track sounds. And where Leroy's reflection displayed an almost rotund man, the physique before me was far more like a linebacker, muscles showing taught whenever he twisted, bent or tensed.

          In addition to the other changes I had already noticed in Hank, his skin the texture of pebbly cinder block, with his joints and edges like sharp corners. The fireman's hair also seemed more like a sandstone sculpture than actual hair.

          Ken was thinner than his reflection, not as bad as Solana, yet stretched looking. The man's hazel eyes seemed more like steely grey washers around his pupils. It turned out that the swordsman had thin-short scars all over his face and especially concentrated on his hands and forearms. Like the marks I had discovered on myself, Ken's looked very old. Combined with a wind-burned coloration, Ken’s scars had looked like wrinkles, hence my imagining him aged, earlier. While Ken’s hands and arms were so hash marked, he might have been wearing long lace-gloves.

          Our group's musings were cut off by a groan, from behind the last changing curtain. Kyle had sounded despondent. We asked if he was alright.

          "Rrr well," the furry man grumbled, "not urr really… I, irrr, I have rrr a tail."

          Kyle refused to show any of us, possibly because of some of our uncontrollable snickering. I doubt that any of us meant to be unkind, the image of the reportedly fuzzy tail was simply one absurdity too many, and some of our tension turned to giddiness. It only took a minute or two to get ourselves under control and moved to a new parlor game.

          Seeing a couple of old-school analog weight/height measuring scales in the corner, I asked the larger men to move one, to be visible in a mirror. My height disparity had been nagging me, even more as my hallucination theories were falling down. Sure enough, looking right at the scale I came up to just under five-foot-ten, while in the mirror—without me moving, even a little bit—everyone else saw that the scale showed about six-foot even. In light of that new oddity, I just staggered off the scale and stood there, trying to shift the new puzzle pieces into some sort of relation, while the rest of my party took their turns on the scales. Leroy, Hank, and Ken all displayed taller than their original heights by roughly two inches each, making them six-six-and–a-half, six-five, and six-four respectively. Kyle had shrunk by as much, placing him just below my new height. Gerri claimed to be only a fraction of an inch shorter, leaving her just shy of five-foot-three. Solana had been too weak to bother testing herself, however she seemed to be the same height as Gerri which was shorter for her by a couple of inches.

          Sadly, rather than deducing anything useful, I only noticed another set of questionable sensations. I walked over to Solana, to test the last person in our group. I shivered, then turned to everyone to, yet again, ask if they perceived what I had. However, before I could speak, the double doors swung open and a nurse entered.

          "Okay everyone…" the new nurse was a tired looking white woman, with bottle-blond hair in need of a touch up, and she paused when she saw the scale in the middle of the room. After glancing around seriously, she continued. "I see you have all cleaned up, that is good. We are going to need to get some preliminary information, before the doctor comes in. Are there any questions?" She had started moving to one of the locked cabinets.

          "Not really a question." Gerri raised her hand with only her elbow. "But our friend seems pretty sick.' Her deep-red locks bounced as she nodded towards Solana.

          The nurse almost startled, as if she had not seen the almost corpse-like woman on the middle exam table. The nursed stepped over to Solana felt the sick ladies forehead and throat, then asked, "When was the last time she ate?'

          Solana's brows furrowed indignantly, however before she could snap her own reply, Geri said, "We don't know for sure. None of us have eaten for at least twelve hours, though."

          "Typical." Our new nurse said with some exasperation, apparently toward her fellow health workers. "I'll be right back with something for everyone." And she exited the room.

          I noticed that one of our police guards had been peering through the little square window in one of the swinging doors. When the nurse departed, the cop seemed to lose interest in our room again.

          "That was interesting." Ken rubbed a scarred knuckle back and forth along his lower lip, as soon as the door had closed. "She acted like Solana just looked tired, like her mirror image."

          "Yeah, well," I pointed out, waving my open palm in a gesture to indicate the whole rest of the world outside that room, "we all think we look pretty weird, but no-one else seems to. Not the old lady, not the BP clerk, and certainly not the cops or nurses, who I would expect to be fairly observant."

          "Maybe it's high-tech contacts?" Hank said, then went to a mirror and gently poked his eye, to no effect.

          "Except, it's not just visual, is it? In addition to hank's weird skin texture and my own pointy ears," I referred to my revelation just before the fake-blond nurse had entered, "I've been noticing odd smells and sounds too. And the thing is, they seem pretty consistent to you guys." I flapped my hand back and forth to indicate no one individual.

          "Like Gerri's flower smell." Solana spoke with some effort.

          Gerri’s emerald eyes widen, while I touched my nose with one hand and pointed to the invalid with my other.

          "I thought that was just nice perfume." Hank said returning his attention away from the mirror.

          "I'm not wearing perfume." Gerri sounded half way between defensive and defiant.

          "None rrr of us rrerrgh could be, aftererer the sponge umph baths." Kyle nodded.

          "Nor are you technically wearing make-up." I added. "Except she's not the only one." I pointed to Ken, then Hank. "You smell like damp leaves. And you like a campfire."

          "Well," Hank cocked his head in a half shrug, "smelling like smoke is an occupational hazard for a fireman."

          "Except," Gerri held her left elbow in her right hand while she tugged at her auburn tresses with the left hand, "you did not smell like smoke yesterday… or whenever that was."

          "Yeah, that's right." Solana confirmed tiredly. "You smelled like Stetson cologne. I remember because I don't usually like that one, but you pulled it off."

          "And," I jumped back in, "odors tend to linger a little, but with each of you the smells disappear as soon as you're a few feet away." I gestured to Kyle and Leroy to keep everyone's attention. "Then, there's these two. I get near Kyle and I swear that I can hear running water, like a stream in the distance. And Leroy… well it's more subtle, like a whispering _shooshing_ sound…"

          "Like snow, or sleet, falling on ice." Gerri was nodding slowly.

          I snapped my fingers and did the nose-tap-point to the shapely girl as I nodded and stepped towards Solana. "And every time I get near our unhealthy companion, I get a tingly-chill feeling all down my back."

          Everyone had been a little surprised at whatever odd thing they had been associated with, except Solana, who actually grinned a little. Then another round of what-does-this-mean rippled around the room to no avail. It was pointed out that I did not seem to have any unusual aura or field or whatever. I could not help but feel a little left out, however I did not say so. Mass hallucination brought on by chemicals and reinforced by hypnotic suggestion remained our most likely option, yet we still had no believable reason for the anomalies, nor suggestion for Kendal's motives to that end. Unless you count Hank's, "Scientists are always just experimenting with stuff."

          As our collective enjoyed our most recent bout of "what the hell?", I detected that they were generally catching up with my own sense of calm—brought on by things such as nurses, sinks, furniture, and so forth. Eventually, someone even mentioned families, who might be worried about us, or maybe even be able to help sooner than our Athens PD escort intended. Since my sole plan had pretty much hinged on calling mom and dad, I had to smack my head for not thinking of calling sooner.

          The room even had a wall mounted phone, by the door. Gerri got to it first. Standard dial 9 for an outside line and the pretty lady called her brother. The call did not go well.

          "Hi, John," Gerri’s relief was audible, even as she spoke quietly and stood off to one side, to avoid drawing the police sentry's attentions, "it's Gerri. Sorry, it's so early…" She paused to listen, then with mild confusion, "I don't know how they are. I'm in Athens."

          Pause, while Gerri listened.

          "Athens, Ohio," Gerri snapped a little, relief and confusion both turned to frustration and speaking through clenched teeth, in an effort to stay quiet. "How the hell would I get to Greece?!"

          Pause.

          "I'm in the hospital here, the police picked me up for vagrancy…" slightly less tense.

          Short pause.

          "What medication?" confusion returned.

          Longer pause.

          "What does that mean, John? You think I live with mom and dad?" Gerri’s confusion was becoming more and more flustered; as her brother was apparently talking to her as if she needed constant parental supervision.

Hank, Ken, and I seemed to be the only ones paying attention to Geri's situation. Although, it seemed that I was the only one who saw how badly Geri's call was going—Including her own observations. I also thought I saw one of the cop's heads twitch, through the little door-window, as Gerri's voice started to raise again.

          I took the phone from the somewhat stunned woman and spoke as relaxed and good naturedly as I could muster. "Excuse me," I made up a name and pretended to be a doctor. "I am Dr. White. To whom am I speaking?"

          John gave me his full name and identified himself as Gerri's older brother. In the interest of Gerri and John's safety, I will not share the specifics of his identity. John apologized, "We're sorry about this Doc. My folks are supposed to be watching her. As far as I know Gerri hasn't had an episode like this for four or five years."

          My mind raced. I knew I could not pull off being a fake doctor under much scrutiny, not least because part of my mind was flabbergasted that I was doing it at all. Plus, talking to John was only causing Gerri to have more questions and no answers. Based on what John had said their parents lived within six hours of Athens and he was much farther. I decided to try and turn the situation around a little.

          "I see," I said, "well, Gerri is without any identification. So, we were not certain if she was telling the truth. From what you're saying, it seems she is indeed your sister." I had to consciously keep myself from talking too fast. "We would be happy to keep her here, until someone can come with the correct identification. Perhaps you can contact your parents and have them contact us?"

          John agreed and, more to himself than me, commented on how much their folks were not going to like the drive. After I read of the number labeled to the phone (sans extension), we hung up.

          I silently thanked my luck that John had not thought to ask me for any other relevant hospital data. I also started to wonder about my own folks, up in Cinci’. Before I got too distracted I turned to the pretty redhead.

          "You, um, seemed to be going around in circles." I said apologetically.

          "Yeah," Geri nodded, her sparkling eyes half lidded in thought, "I didn't want to have to get my parents involved… but, this is probably for the best."

          I stepped to the side and mentally crossed my fingers, for the curvaceous Officer in Training, however I suspected that brother John would call their parents and be told that their daughter was right there with them. My conundrum-strained thoughts latched on to the idea that Kendal had given us false memories. Memories based on other real people, explaining why we all looked different than we expected and could justify the seven year time slip—assuming that the memory donors provided samples in 2002 and it took Kendal fourteen-years to implant us successfully… But, then what was going on with the mirrors? And why should some of us look so inhuman? I leaned against a wall and head either side of my aching head.

          Meanwhile, Leroy had taken over the phone and made an even more hushed phone call than had Gerri. The remarkably stoic cat-man never chose to share whom he called or what was discussed, though.

          Then the bottle-blond nurse returned with a tray of snacks, so no-one else had a chance at the phone. The nurse let us serve ourselves—apple juice, orange juice, granola bars, and Chips-A-Hoy cookies—while she carried a saline bag over to Solana.        The six of us, around the snacks, were fairly ravenous, so we were all focused on the tray of sugary treats.

The next that I knew, Gerri and Hank were rushing over to the exam table. The nurse was collapsing onto her patient. Solana looked wide awake and a little blissed out, her grey irises darkened and widened to fill most of her unfocussed eyes.

          Hank and Gerri pulled the nurse away, sitting her on a nearby chair. Solana did not seem able to willingly release her grip on the healthcare worker’s wrists. When the nurse was finally pulled beyond the pale lady's reach, little suckling-mouths were clearly visible in Solana's outstretched palms. The mouths seemed full-size and smacked their thin lips at the air briefly, then closed and vanished completely.

The rest of Solana looked much more healthy and livelier, cheeks less sunken, skin less translucent, and she sat up easily. When those hand maws disappeared, the Lit major blinked her large black eyes once and she visibly resisted moving towards the nurse for more.

          "She's just passed out." Gerri confirmed after a few moments checking the nurse's vital signs, "She's breathing steady and I can't find any wounds or marks."

          Hank nodded agreement of the diagnosis. Then the pair made the unconscious lady as comfortable as possible, in the chair. Solana looked more pleased than relieved, at the news that no marks had been found. A burst of whispered panic spewed forth, from our group, centering around what to tell the police to avoid additional—possibly criminal—charges.

          All of which was a weirdness too far for me to cope. In the tumbling puzzle-pieces of my mind one definite slammed hard into place. I had flee that company, as soon as possible. Every time that I felt as if I was making mental headway with sorting out what had happened to all of us, one or more of the others said or did something which jarred my loosely array puzzle pieces into another distracted mess. Feeding on nurses with mouth-hands was just the most recent and terrifying. Plus, my Total Recall/Bourne Identity mash-up (sans cool spy powers) theory kept seeming most reasonable, which made everyone else were aspects of my subconscious self getting in my way. So, isolating myself should be the equivalent of clear thinking. Even If I was wrong, then I would still be away from the crazy creepy people and able to start working on reestablishing my life.

          Just as the others were trying to decide if they should get the cops’ attention, to help the nurse (effectively reminding me that ducking out would not be so simple), a woman strode in. The lady seemed to be a well preserved late-forties or early-fifties. The ultra-petite woman—maybe not technically a little person, yet close as she could get—carried a large stack of books on her back, bound with a leather belt. Her large round thick-spectacles gave her a bug-like appearance. She also had a web-work of chemical-burn scars over most of the right side of her face, long-pointed ears, and glossy indigo-black hair in a tight bun. Her clothing was fashionable for hiking, during the late 19th century.

          The strange woman was followed closely by an even older man, with exceptionally loose-wrinkly skin, as if he had lost a couple of hundred pounds in just a few months. The saggy man wore our team's uniform, Kendal scrubs—muddy and tattered.

          Thanks to my general frustration and confusion, added to m growing anxious desire to escape the group, the next few events jumbled together in my recollection. So, for this retelling, I am not certain when Milton was introduced, nor when Kyle had confirmed the wrinkled man as a fellow from Kendal’s room 105. It was probably while the tiny lady was doling out bundles. Also, at some point Milton cleaned up, as the rest of us had, as well as been clued into the mirror and the scale discoveries.

Milton’s reflection looked like a fifty-something year old, of average build and no muscle tone. The generic short-cropped dull-brown hair and scruffy five-o'clock shadow remained the same in the mirror and without. Otherwise, in person, Milton’s sagging flesh also seemed extremely windblown and had old severe-burn scars over most of the left side of his body and face. Which probably accounted for his pronounced limp. Whenever, Milton did the measuring trick, he claimed to have shrunk be a couple of inches, to five-foot-seven. Although, the man’s most unsettling feature was his fingers, which were all easily an inch long and much thinner than proportionally normal. Yet, incongruously, Milton also had the aroma of fresh April rains.

          Milton claimed to have been a local private investigator, looking into Dr. Anwynn (the physician in charge of the Kendal clinic trial), for suspicious practices. Which I hoped was true, however suspected was an exaggeration, because who was ever really a private investigator.

          Meanwhile, as introductions and note comparisons were taking place, the lady, whom none of us recognized, tried to conduct her business. Looking back, I realize that I had not looked at the librarian-esque lady in the mirror. I wonder if that was by her design, or merely my distractedness.

          My first thought had been that the lady worked with the police, however Milton had explained, at some point or other. "I was following her." His voice was flat and gruff, as he jabbed an elongated thumb at the black-haired lady. "She walked, all no-nonsense, right up to the cops out there," the man's excess cheek and neck skin wobbled, as he nodded to the doors, "then just spit in their eyes. She barely even slowed down. And got 'em both on the first two shots, before either could blink." Milton shook his head with a slow baffled respect. "Then the cops just resumed their posts, not even noticing us."

          I considered checking to see if the officers were still truly oblivious and bolting if they were. However, by then, the lady was talking about compensating us. So, I stayed a little while longer.

          The tiny woman had entered, crossed directly to the clear counter space and started unpacking some of her books. One of my associates had asked her name and by way of introduction the lady handed out business cards. Actually, the card was more of a card of introduction, like Victorian socialites once used.

         

Ms. Inca Alstroemeria

Archivist, Specialty Accounts Alchemical

         

          Then, spontaneously and apparently in unison many of those present decided that Ms. Alstroemeria must have all of the answers. At least half the group started barraging the weary looking Ms. A with the various questions that had been plaguing us. "What happened to us?" "Who did this?" "Why?" "What was the point?" "Where is our stuff?" "What happened to our lives?" "Why can't we remember the last decade-and-a-half?" "Why do we look different?" and on and on. I was dumbfounded, often one questioner would start talking before the last had finished and no one seemed to be doing any listening. I can only speculate that fatigue and stress had caused a mild mass-hysteria, similar to how Kyle’s tail has caused the tension to break into giddiness.

          All the while, Inca Alstroemeria, in a very business-like manner, moved to the counter, place down her books, unstrapped them, selected a couple of tomes, opened them to particular places, pulled a bottle of ink from a belt pack, and a large peacock feather quill from an inner jacket pocket, then waited for the commotion to calm down. The so-called alchemist had not ignored the question bombardment as she set up her impromptu desk, unfortunately, her curt responses just tended to spark a new barrage of questions—sometimes related to her answers, sometimes not.

          Ultimately, Ms. Alstroemeria's information boiled down to: "Each of you had agreed to service." Her voice was dry, although not stern or monotonous. "Now that the period of servitude is over, you are each entitled to payment. I am here to provide that remuneration."

          That had triggered a flashback for me, to Kendal and waiting in line before being assigned a room. At the front of each line, a nurse had sat at a desk and went over the rules of the study. Each participant then had to sign a contract. It had seemed pretty straight forward, liability waivers and emergency contact and the like. At the time, none of us had heard or seen anything unusual with the explanations or paperwork—as repeatedly stressed by most of my coincidental colleagues, to the Alchemical Accountant (whatever that was). Except, I had felt the phrasing of “over the fourteen day period” had been an odd way to refer to the three consecutive weekend the clinical trial’s observations were to take place.

I have since learned that we could only hear and see what the so-called Doctor Anwynn and his servants wanted us to hear and see. However, like most laws, ignorance of the rules did not absolve us from their applications. Nor had we any method of proving wrongful enactment.

          In one of her open books, bound masterfully in leather, Ms. A showed us each copies of the Kendal contracts that we signed. A more careful reading now, revealed some very disturbing legalese. Buried in the fine print, a significant section on participants service defined "…as the contractor sees fit." And "…during which the participant contractee's name shall be relinquished…" the worst of it all effectively summed up in the line, "The undersigned participant agrees to service for a period not to exceed 14 years and 14 days."

          At the new bursts of outrage that the contracts elicited, Ms. Alstroemeria expressed her level of concern as, "You should have negotiated better contracts, if you had wanted to retain your possessions, appearances, time, or what had you."

          "Wait a minute." Ken gained the room's attention, for a moment. "So, why are we so cut up?”

          The tiny scarred woman blinked, one heavily magnified blink. "The contract warns of possible injury. Additionally, there was no stipulations regarding safe transit, upon completion.”

          As the hubbub resumed around that new revelation, I flashed on running with others through a thorny, tangled, and dark forest. If true, then my vision shed quite a bit of light on why we were all so sore and scraped up.

          Milton made a churlish request for the copy of his contract. "No," Ms. Alstroemeria snapped, "you may not have my copy of any of the contracts. You were given a copy at signing. You should have kept better track of it."

          The woman was right, of course, we had been handed pale-pink copies. Then the contracts were placed with all our other belongings into Rubbermaid totes and carted away.

          Even so, the accountant alchemical may not have known any more details, but that is not how she seemed. Rather, either Inca did not want to tell us, or was not allowed. For all that, the very prim lady did not seem malicious—efficient, bureaucratic, put upon, yes, but not mean. Certainly the Ms. Alstroemeria was not one to suffer fools gladly and the people I was with absolutely were acting as fools in our confused naïveté.

          Days later, it would occur to me that we might have paid Ms. Alstroemeria for more information. However, even at that point, it was hard to imagine giving back any of the precious money she had just doled out. The cash was the first tenuous line on a blueprint that might lead to rebuilding my demolished life.

          I definitely did not like the information that Inca had just imparted, however it felt as true as any punch in the gut. So, I had to figure out what being gone for fourteen years (and two weeks, apparently) meant, what needed to be fixed, and how.

          The remuneration provided was the $1050, as promised in the original contract. Not fair, by a long-shot, for fourteen-years worth of work. I really felt that the contract had been obscured with so many lies, the least Anwynn could have done was lied about the payment amount in our favor. However, as the Archivist for Specialty Accounts Alchemical said, we should have negotiated better. Not knowing better at the time does not get you out of speeding tickets either.

          I was first in line for the pay out. I had to sign Ms. Alstroemeria's other book, a receipt ledger. I checked extra careful for any fine print, first. Ms. A produced canvas belts with pouches tied to them as each person signed their receipts. Somehow the mysterious accountant kept producing the belts from the same satchel at her waist, with no discernible effort. Especially, impressive as our payment was completely in golden Sacagawea dollar coins.

          As much as I had felt that the larger-on-the-inside pouch was impressive, as was pulling the long pristine peacock feather out of a tiny jacket pocket, I had passed my saturation point for impossible things. So, I just filed the information away, to be amazed and confused at later.

          When someone asked about the metal tender, Ms. Alstroemeria replied, "Yes, the coin of this realm, the largest available denomination." She rolled her dark eyes behind the magnifying lenses of her glasses. "I am sure I do not know why that, if they are to mint with such tawdry alloys, then they limit to such small values."

          As Ms. Alstroemeria's dealt with one of us at a time, that was when most of the other chatting and sharing must have occurred. As I said, I was very out of it throughout most of that encounter. I know I overheard most of the party generally agree that they would split into smaller groups, then meet the following morning at the IHOP across the street from O'Bleness, to compare notes further. Privately, I did not honestly think I would try to see any of them again. If any of what I was experiencing was truly real, then those other people represented way too many bad things in my life.

          Also, it must have been around then that Milton had conveyed the tale of Inca spit-hypnotizing (spitnotizing?) our police guards at the door. For that is when I realized I could easily slip out and away. I left as Milton was completing his transaction with the Alchemical Accounts Specialist. Milt must have said something right since Ms. A was writing something on the back of one of her calling cards for him—more than the rest of us had been able to get, yet not nearly interesting enough to keep me from leaving. The two policemen simply stared ahead, as if I were invisible.

         

I had cobbled together some semblance of reasoning in anticipation of my escape. I knew that hospital staff always needed to be in scrubs, so they must leave their day clothes somewhere. I know movies and TV often depicted doctors and nurses just living in scrubs, however in November I bet they had additional layers. I found an unoccupied employee locker room. Luckily most of the lockers were unlocked. I located and docked serviceable shoes, pants and bulky down-coat. As I was already trembling with dread of getting caught, I not only left the personal belongings (including wallet), I also left two rolls of my precious coins. I even found a pen and old receipt and placed a note with the fifty-bucks, "Sorry, really desperate. Thanks."

          I made sure to exit the hospital as far from where I had been escorted in. then I had to do some current-events research. The university’s computer lab was too far and would not let me in without a student ID, anyway. So, I aimed for the Athens Public Library, with luck they would have a public access CPU with internet access. With more luck, I would be able to catch a nap at a reading desk.

          My sore feet and legs made me chide myself for having left so much money behind. I briefly considered trying to flag down one of the small town’s very few cabs. Even if I saw a taxi however, my burgeoning plan left very little room to risk wasting any of my remaining money.

I did stop into a Burger King for a couple of sandwiches and coffee, though. It tasted worse than I remembered, but helped shore me up and counter some of my waves of exhaustion.

          I learned a lot in short order at the library. Not least of which was how far even municipal computer access had come. The speed and ease of the internet was almost intoxicating, Google had improved amazingly. FaceBook was indispensible, and online banking was very nice. Having searched my name, hoping for a missing persons report, and discovered that I had a FaceBook page.

          Someone who’s pictures looked like me—the original, albeit thirty-four year old, me—had nearly three-hundred FaceBook friends, none of whom seemed savory. I was never straight edge or anything, but it was clear that the other me was very involved in drug culture, without any real reading between the lines needed. I cringed, imagining what my family must think of that person using my name.

The guy even used my passwords. There over a grand in my bank account. Way better than the two-hundred which I had left there (apparently) fourteen-years earlier, yet not close to enough to reimburse my hardship and emotional distress. Besides, without identification or a debit card, I would have to get creative in order to access it.

          I was too numb to freak out or despair. I could even get a proper rage going. I did have a low burning, though, which fueled me just enough to keep going.

          Since I continued to have trouble sustaining focused thoughts, I turned to a printed-out set of short and long term goals—research more on family, get car or bus pass, a laptop, a cell phone, cheap local motel, credit unions, wire-transfers, food, clothing, and so on. I would tackle the short term, as many as possible as quickly as possible, then work on the details of the longer-term goals, as I went.

          I came away from my research center more… what? Calm, grounded, fulfilled? All of them really. I had always enjoyed the process of discovering answers and the tangential knowledge gained from research. Now the process also reinforced my connection with the world around which had become alien, overnight.

          I left the library long enough to get another unpleasant tasting fast-food lunch, Arby's this time. On the other hand, the walking I did was generally pleasant, beyond my aching legs and having to keep my head down. Thanks to the clear sky, seventy-plus degree temperature, I was embarrassed to catch anyone’s eye while in my overstuffed purloined coat, yet would have felt as conspicuous in just my scrubs-shirt. Beyond my own comforts, I found the weather to be unreal. I assumed that it must be an Indian Summer, even though I had never experienced one so late into the year. In spite of the peculiarly fake taste, lunch gave a burst of energy, which carried me through a few errands.

          It was no secret that college towns always have a black-market for fake IDs, servicing the many underage drinkers that have been cut loose from parental supervision. Illegal or not, forging is a business and all businesses had adapted to the electronic media—my thanks to Craig's List, in this case.

Gary, the forgers, placed reeked of pot and his eyes were very bloodshot, just past noon, however he accepted the Sacagawea's, with a "Whoa, that's a lot of coins dude."

          It cost two-hundred dollars to get a fake Ohio drivers license in the name of Thomas White. At least, handing over the eight coin-rolls significantly eased my load. I had considered using my real name, then decided that I would get a real license again, when I was certain that the name on it was mine and mine alone. I did use my real birthday and parents address in Cincinnati, though, on so if questioned, I would not hesitate when answering.

The one hiccup was when I startled at the sight of my photo on the fake ID. The image was of normal gangly me, albeit aged the same as the thirty-four year old FaceBook imposter guy. I blurted, “That looks like me!”

"Totally, dude.” Gary confirmed, apparent convinced I was even more high than him. “Who else were you expecting it to look like? I mean, it'd be a pretty shitty ID, if a bouncer looked down and didn't see your face."

          After that I had more confidence in my stride, as I checked of more of my short-term goals. Tom White leased a PO box, at the post office, then stopped into Athens Federal Credit Union and opened an account. Again, until I knew more clearly what the other me was about, I did not want to risk even sharing a corporate banking entity, under a false name.

I was buoyant with pride , as I entered the Credit Union. I had anticipated that Thomas White’s Cinnci’ address and a PO box would not be good enough to open n account. So, I had rehearsed my story as I had been trudging from place to place. As it turned out, "I am going to be a new student at the university in January. I just moved down from Cinci, here's my address.”

I slid over a scrap paper, on which I had arbitrarily selected an apartment number in a block of notoriously student-filled complex. “Normally, I would wait to open an account, until I had a utility bill or something. But, my granddad--he's kind of quirky—gave me this gift of a several hundred Sacagawea's.” _Clunk_ the bundled rolls onto the counter. “And honestly, I just don't trust my new roommates enough to leave the coins at home."

I won't go so far as to say the teller ate it up, but she did buy it. I kept a couple of rolls, deposited a few hundred, and converted the rest to bills.

          Then, it was back to the library for more computer time, before closing time. The library’s bank of personal computers served me even better than earlier, for had it been 2002, there would not have been enough to go around. Hank and Leroy were there, using the internet, much as I had. My fists clenched, in proprietary indignation of the copy-catting, before my reason took over. Not only had the two giants not realized I ad already been there, Hank was particularly bad at it. The oddly rocky muscle man was so ham-fisted (perhaps brick-fisted, in his case) at basic net navigation that it was like an insult to the art of research. So, I had to spend a fair amount of my time showing him how to do it right. I frowned sternly, when the next thing that I knew, the librarian was their, letting us know the building was closing for the day.

Hank clapped a heavy-hard hand on my back, "You bugged out pretty quick at O'Bleness. Did you hear that we were all going to meet up tomorrow morning at the IHOP?"

          "Uh, oh really." I groped for a non-committal response. not really interested in seeing that gang again, yet equally unwilling to burn any bridges with the only people that knew what I was going through, "Uh, sounds cool."

          Hank smiled, with teeth which looked like driveway gravel. "Most of us already stopped at Wal-Mart for clothes and supplies." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a little white-plastic flip phone. "Most of us got one of these pay-as-you-go jobs as well, let me give you my number, just in case."

          My eyes widened in surprise, for having missed that both Hank and Leroy were dressed in proper clothes. Then, I flushed with embarrassment, at the thought the sociable guy was intentionally dropping a hint for me to dress better. Especially, since I had been planning to go shopping, after dinner, after banks and the like closed, and certainly someplace nicer than Wal-Mart. Then, I felt my blood drain, as I realized how I had looked, in Athens Federal CU. My clever quirky-grandpa story had probably been pointless, because the motherly teller must have simply thought that I was homeless and took pity on me.

          I jotted Hank's digits on a piece of paper with a pencil nub that one of the librarians had given me, then asked, "Hey, can I borrow that for a quick call?"

          Hank did not even hesitate., either he felt it was fair compensation for my computer aid, or he was just that relaxed about his stuff. Either way, I was especially relieved. I had yet to see a single pay phone and, considering my appearance, I did not have much hope of getting a librarian or some other stranger to use their phone.

          Stepping a few feet further along the sidewalk, for privacy, I dialed pretty much the only friend I had in Athens, over fourteen years earlier. Jack's wife, Sarah, answered, recognized my name, and did not sound pleased to be hearing from me. I swallowed hard, hoping that my doppelganger had not been around making trouble, too recently. Jack was on FaceBook and he was not a "friend" with the other me.

          "Yeah, uh, so anyway," I tried to regain some conversational equilibrium, "is Jack home?"

          "He's working." Sarah's cold tone and emphasis made it clear that she knew I was not working and she did not approve.

          "I was hoping to talk to him in person." I said. "Could I come by this evening?"

          There was a chilly pause. "We have to put the kids to bed after dinner and Jack needs to be asleep by ten." Again Sarah conveyed with tone alone that I was not to be at her home when her kids were awake. Jack had not even had kids when I knew him.

          "That's okay, it won't take long." I pressed on, not knowing why, "I don't even need to come in or anything. I just need to talk to Jack for like fifteen or twenty minutes." I think I was sounding pretty desperate.

          There was another stone cold pause, before she said, "Alright, I suppose you can come by around nine. I will let him know you called." Not 'I will tell him your coming' or 'to expect you' I noted.

          I thanked Sarah and hung up. Originally, I had imagined that meeting Jack at his house would make him more casual and therefore more inclined to do me a favor. In light of Sarah's attitude, I resolved to try and catch Jack at his dealership, instead.

          I thanked Hank for the phone use and hurried off before the big man could rope me into any actual commitments.

          For dinner I tried Wendy's; it had always been a childhood favorite. Now it was just yucky. Not inedible, yet nothing I would return to, if I could avoid it. I was convinced that Anwynn had chemically altered me, so that only food provided by him would taste normal, as a control method. To what end? Was still a big blank puzzle space. At least, after three meals, I had not been sick and I could cope with bad taste, if that was the worst of it. And it really cold be worse, I shuddered at the memory of Solana’s hands, sucking hungrily towards the nurse. Every time the unpleasant thought re-emerged I would stare at my flexing palms for a while, to no effect, so I had some hope that I was extra orifice free.

          I shopped at Old Navy for clothes and Target for underwear and sundries. Arguably not significantly more impressive than Wal-Mart, yet made me feel les low-rent, while keeping my expenses low. I came away with a suitable under-clothes, two pairs of pants (one jeans), several winter-weather shirts, decent hiking boots, durable coat (with big pockets), hat, gloves, and scarf. I stuck to darker muted browns and blues. I also, picked up a pen-and-pencil set and a pocket notebook. I used the same strip-mall’s Starbucks restroom, to change into my new attire and kept all of the used articles in the shopping bags—no point in throwing away any resource.

         

I sprang for a buck-twenty-five bus ride, to avoid sweating through or otherwise soiling my new duds. The public transport took over an hour, to make a twenty minute drive. At least, I was able to catch a catnap on the way. The bus let me off a block from Schmidt Motors Ford Dealership, close to 6:00 pm.

As I approached from the back way, I experienced waves of recollection. My friend Jack Schmidt owned the dealership, however we had met while I was hanging around a stockcar race, admiring the machines. Jack was a hobbyist racer and we had bonded over car talk.    I stashed my shopping bags behind the dumpsters next to the dealership, to look less needy. I remembered pit crewing for Jack, he had been mentoring me to drive one of the cars, eventually, and some of his business acumen inevitably got mixed in. So, showing up in clean close and looking casual was important, to try and convey a sense of “Het, I’m someone you’d like to help out, even if you do have other trepidations.”

          I found Jack on the sales floor, he looked surprised and wary to see me. Jack retained his sturdiness, on par with my new height, and now clearly in his early forties—way more dad-like, than my memories. I nodded appreciatively at Jack’s crisp-tailored medium-grey suit and tie. The car dealer had told me once that the grey made the color of any car that he stood next to pop and seem more appealing. When I asked to talk to Jack in private, his surprise vanished and wariness doubled. A certain amount of "this should be interesting" also entered the businessman’s body language. We went to his office, my heart sinking all the way there.

          As with the credit union, I had a story rehearsed. Know Jack must have known my imposter a little and extrapolating from what I had seen on FaceBook, I had concocted a tale about an addict girlfriend stealing all my stuff and triggering a bottoming out moment for me. So, I was going to get insurance money in a day or two and if Jack would sell me a decent car cheap, then I could move back to my parents and get myself straightened out.

Fourteen-years earlier, Jack would probably have given me a car, or at least financed a super-low monthly payment. So, I hoped that even if he spotted my lie, that he would still feel nostalgic enough to cut a good deal.

          My tale went un-spun, though. The life-long salesman controlled the conversation, verbally taking my measure, before I was fully aware of it. Although, Jack’s questions also revealed certain details, as well; confirming that the Tom of the last fourteen-years was an alcoholic and drug addict.

When Jack, seeming out of nowhere, asked, “You been in prison, Tom?” I was only partially prepared.

I had not found anything conclusive on the internet, however my imposter seemed seedy enough. By then, I was reticent to get cut in an explicit lie, I just answered, "Not recently."

          Eventually Jack got around to asking what I wanted. The man visibly relaxed when he realized that I did not want money, a job, or a free car. Jack was still not as generous as I had hoped for, yet he did wind up agreeing to sell me a $1000 used 2011 Festiva for $600—as long as I had the money by Wednesday. I barely kept myself from frowning at the time limit and the model. On the other hand, I was confident that Jack would not sell a lemon and any reliable car was better than bus travel.

                                                                                                  Although, I was mentally kinking myself during the actual negotiations. If I had not wasted time with the credit union account, I would have had the cash on me. The PO box seemed pointless, too, as I had established both in expectation of Jack wanting such proofs. Admittedly, I had been fooling myself into believing that I would have been able to convince Jack to accept a PO box, in lieu of a read address. I even blanched a little, realizing how badly my fake ID name on the Athens Federal account would have looked. Luckily, Jack took my reaction as relief related to his discounted car.

          I also flashed on having to sleep in the compact car and not having money for more than a meal or two, since the six-hundred would effectively tapped me out. So, I straightened my back and settled back into the resolve to follow through with the rest of my plan, as I had conceived it. I thanked Jack, said that I would see him by Wednesday, shook his hand, and left.

          The handshake gave me a weird sort of _tingle-throb_ , sort of all over, yet centered in my chest. Definitely not static electricity. Afterwards, any time that I mused on the car seal, I felt more confident about it likelihood, while also feeling more anxious to gather the money together on time. So, one more inexplicable piece for my ever growing weirdness puzzle.

 

Even in the full dark of the temperature continued to feel no cooler than low-sixties. I worried that Anwynn had messed with my perception of temperature, along with taste. Then, noted that everyone else in town seemed dressed for the unseasonable weather.

Still concerned about appearances, I made sure to circle the block, before collecting my stashed Target bags, before catching the bus to Wal-Mart. As much as I did not respect Wal-Mart, they really did tend to have the lowest prices, and I had determined that I still needed a few more products. Plus, by then my adrenalin rush from meeting with Jack had worn off, add to my day-long fatigue, I was numbly running on autopilot.

At Wal-Mart I bought a backpack, pajamas, more toiletries, granola bars, and a wallet. From there, my plan to get more money called for some more web-research, so I went to FedEx/Kinko's for a couple of hours. I looked more closely into Fake-Tom, his friends, my family, and the like. Thanks to my exhaustion, I was sloppy and wound up doing much of the research again over time.

Honestly, I knew that I should have been going to sleep and my plan (for getting more money) was only a partially legitimate excuse for my actions. Even with my sore muscles and thorough exhaustion, I was afraid to go to bed. The last time I had fallen asleep, I had lost fourteen-years and many aspects of my identity. Plus, the fatigue was also probably exacerbating my paranoia.

          In the end, though, I was nodding off at the monitor and the FedEx/Kinko’s staff was giving me suspicious glares. So, I drew the curtain on my longest-day-ever, at the cheapest hotel the internet could find. As I checked into the Knight’s Inn, I wondered if it was fate or something more sarcastic that I could see O'Bleness Memorial from the lobby. I could not see the IHOP, but I knew it was also within sight of the hospital. Conflicting parts of my mind taunted each other about going to the breakfast meeting, running away, and just ignoring everything.


	3. Chapter 3

Still edging along the cliff. The narrow ledge remains consistent—just a little narrower than the length of your feet… your bare, dirty, sore, feet. The chill wind catches and tugs at your flimsy cotton scrub-pants, threatening to pull you out into open sky. Maybe that's why you are bare chested? Because you took off the shirt, to avoid the wind using it and you as a kite?

          You keep edging down the slope of the ledge, always edging, left heel over, right heel to left, inch by inch. You dare not try to look down, to gauge your progress. It would mean leaning forward, at all, and that was likely to be too much. Plus, you could not bare the disappointment, if not yet close to the ground. So, you edge. You can angle your head to the side and up, somewhat—just enough to see more grey-blue sky and pale clouds. Edge, edge, edge, inch after dreary-terrifying inch. No way to sit or relax, without falling. To the left and right, you see that the cliff arcs away and back—as if you are on some massive cylinder, or the thread of an impossible screw. You gulp to suppress the shudder. Any shudder may send you over. Edge, edge…

          …Edge, edge. The cliff wall is narrowing behind you. The sky seems to be clearing. You dared not believe it before. Above, you can now tell that the mountainous edifice looms out and over you—a gently sloped outcropping. You can barely see any cliff wall to left or right. Your guess must have been correct—a gigantic screw… and you are coming to the point of it. Is it on the ground? It had to be. It could not just be hovering in space. What to do? You must risk a look down…

          No. No, no, no, no, no, no… It is not possible. It is not fair. You were so careful. You tried so hard… The path just continues. It meets a point and starts widening again. Like two toy tops glued at their balancing points… And the clouds break. You look up, for some comfort, some small cheer, that the sun can offer…and weep. The patchwork of the landscape hangs above you. Below your feet, only ever deepening sky. Somehow you are upside down and have been headed the wrong way.

          You try to decide if you can make the journey to land, or should you step out and let gravity claim you. You fear the fall more than the edging around the corkscrew-mountain. But, it is too late. You stood still too long. The tiny hands, no more visible than the wind start to find your feet and grasp for your pants. The eerie clear laughter dances high with the wind, "Come play with us, Tommy!" You are yanked from your perch. "Come fly!" the childlike things cry.

         

Day 2, Wednesday, November 9th

I sat bolt upright in the motel bed. My new red-flannel pajamas clung to my sweat-soaked frame. An eye-darting stock of my surroundings, as breathing and heart rate returned to normal. The clock-radio turned from 3:00 to 3:01am. Everything seemed to be as it had been, before I slept. I turned on the bedside lamp, its artificial light-pool less than comforting, as it made shadows longer and deeper. Nothing had changed or moved within the room, reassuring me (somewhat) that no more years had been lost. My eyes narrowed, as I weighed the value of trying to nod-off again, against the possibility of returning to that nightmare.

          I got up and showered.

          I had only achieved a little more than four hours of sleep, however that plus my hot shower before bed and this new one did wonders for my physical wellbeing. some aches and fatigue lingered, yet I no longer felt hobbled. Plus, the nightmare’s clamminess was, at least, free.

On the other hand, the steamy water, could not wash my contemplations down the drain. My subconscious images had churned my inner self, leaving chunks of dread, anger, and confusion chaotically swirling around on the surface. Worse still, bubbles of longing, familiarity, kept popping up, as if part of me actually craved to be in that horrible dream-place.

          Nor could I quite convince myself that the dreamscape was just a figment of my overtaxed psyche. My bones itched with certainty that the Floating Corkscrew Mountains were real and no amount of hot water could change that.

Stepped out of the shower, I caught sight of my image in the slightly misted mirror; I had used the bathroom fan and left the door open for the purpose of not completely steaming the glass. The young, golden-tan, veritably shiny, face which looked back was Twilight Tommy. The name echoed in my mind, as if I had given it thousands of times. In an instant, the name of Twilight Tommy made me feel safe, as if it were a secret identity which had profoundly protected me.

          After that, even my spirits improved. Even though, the nightmare images lingered with far greater clarity than any other dream I had ever experience. Nor did any further connection click with the puzzle-piece of my code name. Still, the dread and such like started to settle deeper into the soup of my mind. Besides, I was certainly both unwilling and unable to return to slumber.

          So, busied myself with the mundane. Rinsing out strategic sweat areas in my PJs and similar targeted cleaning of my clothes from the day before—thorough soaking may have prevented rapid enough drying. I also half-listened to the TV. Then, the packing and repacking of my meager belongings, to insure what seemed to be optimal access inside my dark-green and gold backpack.

          Still no new rhyme, reason, or revelations came to me, by 6:30 am. Nodding capitulation to my efforts, everything was as good as it was going to be, I grabbed my pack and coat. I paused outside the door to check on the complimentary USA Today, “Wednesday November 9th, 2016”. So, another verification that time seemed to have resumed normal progression. I left the Knight’s Inn; no need to bother with check out when you pay in cash at check in.

          I kept running through my goals for the day, under my breath, “Surreptitiously return property, work out logistics of wiring myself money, then collect car.” Straight forward enough, yet with my distractedly cluttered mind, I needed the constant reminders. Plus, I recognized that I had absolutely pushed myself too hard, the day before, and wanted to make sure I kept it simple going forward. Especially, to reduce the chances of having another messed up nightmare, when I did sleep again.

          Every time that I anticipated the Festiva which Jack had promised, I felt that oddly reassuring _thrum_. It felt like more than just excitement or stress. Clearly as much had been done to my mind as my body. Was Anwynn’s Kendal study research into creating ESP? Were the physical mutations side effects?

          I shrugged at the speculations and wondered if I should mention any of my list of theories to whoever showed up at the IHOP. While using the complimentary hairdryer on my socks, I had let my curiosity get the better of me. Plus, the nightmare had exacerbated a craving for kindred spirits. Even if the group was a chaotic mess, the could identify with my issues and some of them may have learned something useful. The thoughts forced a resigned sigh out of me, as I walked through the clear dawn light.

          The sun was barely up. The clouds were thin and wispy, but plentiful enough to soften the sunlight slightly. It was cool rather than chilly, I had to keep reminding myself it was November, not September. The weather seemed to promise to remain as uneventful as the day before. I wondered briefly if I should have saved the money I spent on the hat, scarf, and gloves.

          First stop, “Surreptitiously return property…” I had not originally intended to return the clothes, having paid for them and all. Yet, as I reflected over things deep and shallow, in the wee hours before dawn, I altered more of my earlier expectations than just dining at the pancake house. Déjà vu sank into me, as I skulked back into O'Bleness Memorial, almost exactly 24-hours after I had skulked out. I left the jacket, pants, and shoes in the same locker from where I had acquired them. No wallet was present for me to collect a refund, although I still left another scratch-paper note, "Thanks again."

          Then, “Work out wiring money…”, step one. I found a quiet, empty exam room, with a phone, adding to my déjà vu. My net research had provided my old bank’s 24-hour customer service line. After dialing the number from off my notepad, I was hardly on hold for any time, before a Rep. answered.

          Once more reading from my notes, I provided the address that my doppelganger’s online bank account had listed and, from memory, my mother’s maiden name. The Customer Service Representative confirmed what I would need in order to make a wire transfer. Even though, that information had also been online, considering all the other strangeness with which I was coping, I was doing my best to not take anything for granted. Plus, the call also verified that I could successfully get a bank dupe to do my bidding, which may be useful in the future.

          Thanks to the short hold time, “Wire transfer…” part two, was moved to pre-breakfast. Knowing that my access to funds was more likely, I splurged on another couple of bus rides and scouted the location of the Western Union office that I had looked up on the web. Even though the office was closed, I still wanted to avoid risking that it had moved or ceased operations. Admittedly, I was also still reveling in mundane sights and actions. Then, I headed to the IHOP. My quiet self reminder down to, “Transfer funds, get car.”

          My eyebrows raised in mild surprise, when I saw that most of the gang from the hospital had shown up. Solanna was the sole absentee and none of the others could say for sure if she had even left O'Bleness, although no one worried that she was still in police custody either. In fact none of my dining companions seemed concerned about the police for their own sakes either, which made me realize that applied to me as well.

          The others may have been relying on whatever Inca Alstroemeria had done, I certainly was not going to bring the subject up. For my part, I remembered that Officer Kovacs had not taken our names, muttering something about “Easier to get some help at the precinct”. Therefore, I assumed that the worst case was, the police had some descriptions for what they had treated as a bunch of homeless people. So, it was very unlikely that the cops would care about us, especially as long as we stopped looking homeless and avoided drawing further attention. My musing was cut short with some distraction or other presented by my fellow diners.

          Two tables had been pushed together to accommodate the seven of us, in the busy diner. My associates had each improved their attires, while their social skills remained haphazard. Plus, as I have mentioned, I was still not firing on all cylinders, so the ensuing breakfast meeting remains a bit chaotic in my mind and what follows is a best effort on my part to reconstruct what transpired.

          I sat stiffly horrified and nervous at how openly my companions all spoke about our conditions and what had happened. Any normal eavesdropper, such as our waitress, must have thought that our party was insane or perhaps a cult. Even if Athens PD was not specifically looking for us, I still respected it being a post 9/11 world and there was no real reason to believe that Anwynn or his cronies were not still interested in us. Just because Ms. Alstroemeria had paid us off, did not mean we were not liabilities worth disposing of more permanently. So, higher level government or corporate (Kendal most likely) organizations might have agents anywhere.

          Thus, I personally intended to speak as little as possible and attempted to radiate my uncertainty in regards to my companions; imagining that if questioned, I could claim that the group had told me that they were a social club and, as a first time attendee, I did not realize how weird and culty they were, sooner.

          Even so, I kept being drawn into the conversation. Sometimes I could not let what the others said go, without response. More often, though, I would have a flash of insight, which would either cause me to fish for corroboratory information, or would cause me to blurt out whatever had just formed in my mind. The latter were rare, yet made me scowl ate my plate as they proved that I really did belong with the vocal group of crazies.

          Sometimes the insights seemed like a partial memory, others like just my imagination, usually a fair mix of both. When Hank mentioned having dreamt of being auctioned as a slave, for example, I had a flash of me and him meeting in a dark wood… Had there been others present? Was it the same thorny overgrown forest which I had envisioned when Ms. Alstroemeria been addressing us? I could not tell. On the other hand, when Gerri shared her nightmare, of being buried alive—over and over again—I flashed to introducing myself to her, as Twilight Tommy, and she replied with her other not-Gerri name. Yet, the near-memory would not provide that other name.

if these thoughts were just my imagination, should I not be able to imagine more context?… I simply could not coax more to mind as I sat there. Each now flash was its own puzzle piece and still none fit together. I even began to suspect that I might be trying to form one picture with pieces from more than one puzzle.

          It turned out that each of us at the table had a nightmare to recount, though. beyond admitting that I had experienced a bad dream I was able to stay my tongue regarding personal details. Meanwhile, in addition to Gerri and Hank, I learned that all of us had subconsciously experienced variations of imprisonment, capture, enslavement, and torture. Ken, in an empty cell of metal, could only try to claw his way out. Milton, forced to weave and be food for giant spiders. Leroy held prisoner, in a sweltering cave, by some wild beast. Hirsute Kyle's had sounded the worst to me, as he had been torn open and worn like a suit, by some clawed monster.

In addition to broadly similar nightmare-themes, each person with access to a clock, mentioned waking at 3:00 am. An interesting coincidence, although barely odd enough to register on my current weird-o-meter. Plus, the reminders of my own horrible-fascinating dream made me squirm so I changed the topic, as soon as possible.

          "Does food taste strange to anyone else?" I was poking at my pancakes, with knife and fork, desperate to discus anything that seemed more normal,. "I mean, the eggs seem mostly okay and the coffee, but everything else tastes odd. And I don't just mean this food. Everything yesterday was off, too."

          The group thought it over. Leroy gave a noncommittal half nod, half shrug. Gerri spoke first. "Yeah, definitely." Her button-nose sniffed at the bit of sausage on her fork before popping it into her velvety mouth. "Like everything has been sprayed with perfume or soap or something."

          "I hadn't really been paying attention," rasped Ken, "But now that you mention it, yeah it does taste weird." He sipped some coffee. "I think I had assumed the bad taste in my mouth was from whatever drugs we had been given."

          "No, it's definitely the food." Gruff voiced Milton pointed out. "'Cause it's not there when I'm not eating. It's real chemically." His wrinkled nose wrinkled further, emphasizing his point. "Prepackaged stuff seems to be the worst."

          "I don't know," Hank chimed in cheerfully scooping some more pancakes into his mouth, like a crack in a pavement, he continued after swallowing, "I guess it does taste different. I just figured I hadn't had it for a while. Like maybe they changed their recipes…” He shrugged. “I got some breakfast bars at Wal-Mart and they're pretty unpleasant, but I always thought of them like that."

          That led into a discussion of purchases and there relative values, comparative to our practically refugee states. Most obvious was our attire: each of us having opted for all-weather steel-toed hiking-boots (although, I was the only one who scored Dock Martins). Everyone, with the exception of my khakis, wore sturdy Wal-Mart blue-jeans. Leroy was the only one of us in a t-shirt and the linebacker sized man had trouble finding that. I wore a blue short sleeved polo as did Kyle, although the hairy fellow’s strong arms an chest filled out his top more impressively. Ken and Milton each wore dress-shirts, opened at the collar, yet buttoned at the wrists, attempting to cover as much of their respective scarring as possible. Hank and Gerri each sported flannel tops, his sleeves rolled up to show off chunky forearms, hers buttoned to the throat and wrists. Everyone had jackets as well, but hardly had need of them.

          Even wearing green and brown flannel as if it were a military dress-shirt, Gerri’s feminine form could not be denied. A shirt like that usually concealed the lines of a body, yet Gerri's curves only found ways to entice the observer with what lay beneath. Added to her auburn pony tail and porcelain freckle-dusted skin, and wide clear-eyes, Gerri fulfilled any girl-next-door fantasies that anyone had ever had.

          Otherwise, our party looked very minimum-wage/working-class, with me possibly being mistaken for an assistant manager to the rest of my breakfast companions. The leap that we had made from "escaped mental patients", from barely a day ago, made me sit op with more confidence. It made me feel much much more secure that the authorities would not recognize us, if they were even looking for us, and assuming that people continued to be inexplicably oblivious to our bazaar appearances.

          As paranoid as I had been feeling, I was dumbstruck that, in addition to clothes, cheap cell-phones, and food, all of the others had also purchased outdoor survival gear to some extent or other. Milton was especially far gone, having protectively nudged his stuffed backpack and it clanked, the burn-scared man confessed to having acquired a hammer, crowbar, hatchet, duct tape, zip ties, and various other objects equally suited to wilderness survival or urban assault. I got another flash-impression, of an exhausted Milton, once more lamenting his lost tools—as if it was something I had experienced him doing a lot.

          In truth, we all mentioned having tools that could double as weapons. Even though I felt tike the rest of then had gone too far down the civilization has ended rabbit-hole, I did have a couple of dollar-coin rolls, for weighting my fist in a fight. So, although none of us said what it might be, we were all clearly expecting something bad to happen at any minute.

          When the burner-phones were mentioned, an exchange of numbers passed around the table. I jotted down all of the contact info, in my pocket-notebook. It was the best moment of the meeting for me. The numbers meant that I could break away from the group as a whole, yet still get in touch if I needed a sympathetic conversation. I kept my mouth shut and shook my head slightly, rather than point out the hypocritical irony of them all acting like society was out to get them or about to collapse, while clinging to a device that could track their ever move and would fail as soon as civilization fell.

          There was even some levity, in our discussions. All, save Ken, took some pleasure in recounting, for me, the grey-eyed man's interaction with Ms. Alstroemeria , after I had left them in the hospital. Milton summed it up the most succinctly, "When that bookkeeper broad came to his name," He pointed a long thumb at Ken, "he steadfastly refused the money." Dirt-brown eyes rolled. “He argued that, if he didn’t accept the payment, then Dr. Anwynn was still under some obligation to him." Milton shook his loose-face in memory of his own confusion, at the time. “It took the rest of us ten minutes or more, to convince ‘im, that done was done and we weren’t seeing no Dr. Anwynn, ever again. Not that any of us ever saw more than his name on paper in the first place.” Hs placed both spider-fingered hands on the table and leaned towards me, for emphasis. "He still insisted that Ms. Astromirror, or whatever her name was, give ‘im pen and paper, before he’d take the cash. So, he could give her a formal letter of complaint to take back to bosses.”

          I was as astonished as the others had been. Ken was either an idiot, or far more insane than this experience had made the rest of us. Although, I had a distinct gut feeling that such petulant stubbornness was just par for divorcée Ken’s course. Ken just sat, tight-lipped and cross-armed, while the rest of us worked our way through the laughter his actions had elicited—which, of course, prolonged our mirth.

          At some other point, Gerri addressed Milton, “So, how’d you wind-up following that Alstroemeria woman? Were you in Kendal’s basement? ‘Cause we searched the rest of that place.”

Milton’s tale started the same as the rest of us; fell asleep in room 105 of the Kendal facility, on a Friday back in 2002. Then the story shifted to be more like Kyle’s; eventually getting picked up by the police. "I woke up on the river bank,” Milton explained the in-between part, in his gruff gumshoe-stereotype voice, “half in the freezing water. Mike, another guy from 105, was next to me and slipping more into the river. After I grabbed him and shook him awake, we crawled up the muddy bank." His dull eyes remained hard, fixed, and distant.

          "Kendal backed on the river, but I recognized it from my earlier casing of the place. Even though the building was completely dark in the moonlight.” He sipped some coffee. “Thing is, we also saw a lot of movement on the ground near the building. It was pretty much all shadows, but I thought I saw a few people. I know I saw a whole lot of dogs, though." There were audible intakes of breath around the table, as several of us recalled the eerie hounds which stalk us to the BP station. "I just made-out a skinny guy closing one of the rear emergency exits. He seemed to be heading to help someone else laying on the ground, when bunch of the dogs swarmed him.” A solemn head shake. “It was like the guy had not realized the dogs were there. They tore him apart… and I mean limb from limb." Milton sipped more coffee, allowing a dramatic pause.

          "That's when I saw, that what I thought was other people, on the lawn, were just corpses and parts." Milton watched the reactions around the table.

          My fellow diners were as somber, yet not particularly shocked, as myself. Part of me had expected nothing less, as soon as the hounds had been mentioned. Although, I wondered if the others also had a lump in their throats for the skinny guy. Since no-one else had been inside the building with my group, that stranger must have just finished saving Leroy or Hank (closest to that door inside) and probably the rest of us as well. I did not bother interrupting Milton, to share my insight, though. It simply did not matter, at that point. Assuming that Milton had not imagined the event or that I was not hallucinating everything, then the skinny guy was dead and we could not even collect his body for burial.

          "Not knowing what else to do," Milton's low voice continued, "me and Mike slid back to the river. Swam for a while and I came up on the far bank.” Another empty stare. “No Mike, though. Maybe he made land somewhere else… maybe.” Milton took in and released a deep breath.

          I nodded soberly, as I thought of those hounds and what seeing them slaughtering someone would have been like. I probably would have risked swimming the icy waters as well.

“Anyway, I headed to the nearest lights, fast as I could." Milton continued. “Came out in a nice little suburban neighborhood, that didn’t take kindly to my shoutin’ for help. So, it was hardly any time before a cop rolled up and _invited_ me to go for a ride.” His tone had dipped deep into sarcasm. “Johnny Law… Kovacs, I think his name was, made some comment about another one and it being a full moon, even though it clearly wasn't. Then he drove to O'Bleness, saying I could just join the rest." He shrugged his hunched shoulders. "As the copper was helping me out of the backseat, that Alstroemeria dame walks up to him, spits in his eye, and says to follow her." Milton opened his stretch-fingered hands palms up. "Kovacs just started getting back in his car, so I figured they must know each other or something and she was plain close. So, I followed the lady to where she pulled the spit trick a couple more times. This time it’s clear the cops go all blank, though. Then, we were walkin’ in on you all."

          It may have been at some other point, during the extended breakfast, but Milt also told us how he and the athletic Kyle had followed Inca Alstroemeria, as she left the hospital. "She walked north a couple of blocks…"

          I flashed to Kyle, in all of his hirsute glory, speeding along on all fours, running free of the tangling underbrush. Yet another impression that seemed more like a memory that I could not quite place. And, again, with the possibly similar foliage.

          The hang-dog narrator continued, "She went down a service road, in a commercial area. Stopping at a manhole cover, she glanced around. I'm pretty sure she didn't make us." The scarred man sounded more and more like a cheap detective from a 40's movie. "She pulled a two-foot crowbar out of her bag, hooked it into the cover, and opened the manhole, easy as you please." He mimicked the action with his fork and pancake. "She climbed into the hole and used the bar to slide the lid back in place, over her."

          "Hold up." Ken cut in. "How'd she have a two foot crowbar in that little bag?"

          "Same way she had all those money belts she handed out probably." I offered. "Unless, she told someone how she did that, I'm betting it's one more of our many inexplicable mysteries."

          Ken and the rest nodded thoughtfully.

          "Anyway, we," Milton flipped his dowel-thumb between himself and the furry svelt fellow to his left, "hurried over and listened at the drain holes. I heard her boots on metal rungs, then her stepping into shallow water. She greeted someone—called him Arthur. Then, it sounded like she walked off."

          The private eye finished his coffee, then concluded. "I tested the cover gently. Just enough to verify it was standard. It was and that means heavy. The broad lifted it one-handed, with no sign of effort.” He half shrugged. “I didn’t actually try to open it, though. I did not want to meet Arthur. Especially not in a set of scrubs." He chewed and watched us for reactions.

          Kyle had just been sitting, curled over his plate, as if he was afraid someone might try and snatch it away. The fuzzy man had nodded affirmatively to Milton’s story, though. The rest of us nodded introspectively, once the unfortunate looking skin-bag had finished. Some of my colleagues may have even been considering Milt’s words. Personally, I was not particularly concerned about a deceptively strong accountant and her Mary Poppins bag, particularly because I doubted that any of us would see Ms. Alstroemeria, ever again.

          Then, Milton either sensed that he had a fairly rapt audience, or he did not like silences, or (most likely) he just liked listening to himself, because the saggy old-fart told us another story of his adventures, later that day. I was only half-listening by then, but the gist was that Milt claimed to have revisited the Kendal building that afternoon and alone. Apparently, the abandoned office-building's basement had a large gap in the floor, like an earthquake had caused it. The self proclaimed private eye shivered as he talked about the basement and that he had disturbed something and they came swarming out of the hole. Milton admitted that he did not stay to get a good look, but he knew it was not the hounds from the terrible skittering noises the creatures made. "Bugs of some kind," Milton wrapped up swallowing hard his wind ravaged face white with fear, "like a sort of beetle, but bigger and blacker than any beetle I've ever seen."

          By then I felt saturated with unbelievably again, so had little reaction to offer. I assume that my generally unresponsive companions were experiencing the same.

          Milton was not the only person in our party with anything interesting to say, though. Gerri spoke up at one point, "Hey guys, I was thinking, my thousand dollars isn't stretching as far as I thought it would. And I thought we might try pooling our resources." She had put her utensils down and sat with perfect posture (accentuating her bosom), not reaching for anything, while assessing the table’s response.

          "Yeah," Hank agreed quickly, "I think it's important that we stay together. We don't know if anyone's gonna come looking for us." He gripped a coffee-mug in his orange-boulder of his left hand, while his fork hovered and motioned in his right. "If they do and it's good news we can all benefit right away. But if they come and their trouble we have safety in numbers."

          I nodded, pleased that at least one other person was as concerned about what was behind us, as well as what was coming next.

          "That's true," Gerri allowed, nodding her head once to set her silken red pony tail to swaying, "but I was more thinking about food and shelter. Prices are higher than I remember and lots of little things are adding up quick."

          "Like rrr taking the urmph bus everywhererere." Grumble-mumbled Kyle, as he hunched over his plate, forcing himself to look at us by rolling his little black-eyes upward.

          "Yeah," Said Gerri, reaching for her coffee mug, "It's only a buck-twenty-five, but five or six times a day adds up. It's like an extra meal per day."

          "Sure," Ken added, sitting back and sipping more coffee, "and the cheapest hotel I could find was the Knight's Inn. And that was still over fifty bucks."

          A minute was spent with most of us agreeing and admitting that we too had stayed at the exact same hotel. I considered mentioning that walking served me just fine to save on bus fare, then decided I did not want to undercut Gerri's point.

          "See," Gerri pointed a perfectly manicured finger at the grey-eyed fencer, "If we shared rooms then we could at least half the costs."

          "More," added Milton, gruffly, "if we went in on a double, then four or five of us all use it, sleeping on the floor, or whatever."

          "Plus," Hank contributed, "we need to figure out what's going on and we can cover more ground and information, if we work together."

          Hank and Gerri then ran through various survival and teamwork principles that they felt applied. They drew from his firefighter background and her ROTC training for supporting data. I felt like they were stretching a bit on a couple of points, but realized that they just wanted to make sure we did not split up.

          I was skeptical of how much I wanted to entrust my resources to them. I mean Milton had spent money on a hatchet… in the middle of a 21st century American town. I will concede that if it came to living outside in Hawking Hills or some other State Park, then the hatchet was a good idea. Personally, though, I wanted to do whatever I could to avoid having to live outside, especially in the woods if those hounds were as real as I thought they were. Even so, in the end, I agree with all of the others, to a joint effort. Regardless of the money, or relative wisdom of my new allies, I just had to accept that I wanted the few people who knew what I was experiencing to be nearby.

          As soon as I confirmed my commitment to go along with the team-up, I felt a flutter of _thwang-hums_ resonate within me, much like I had when I shook Jack Schmidt’s hand. The sensation seemed to create another low level tension in my chest. Yet, just as with Jack's deal, once I stopped actively thinking about it, I did not really feel anything. I had wanted to ask my cohorts if they had been experiencing anything similar, however the conversation had moved on and I forgot to bring it up.

          Similarly, when I had arrived at the chain-diner the one topic I had fully expected would be discussed was how each of the others had faired when contacting their families. Gerri's experience on the phone and my one discovery of a replicant-Tom had made me very cautious about reaching out to my own relations. However, the subject never seemed to come up. Even I did not think about it while we were actually together. I mention the lapse now, to give you, dear reader, a greater appreciation of how all of our minds were still addled enough to forget our families and previous social support structures

          After discussing the sharing of a hotel room, or rooms, for a while, someone suggested saving even more money by finding an abandoned house, in which to squat. Ken pointed out, “I did see a news feed, on one of the televisions that seem to be in every bar and restaurant…” He glanced around and shrugged. “Other than this one. Anyway, there’s a serious mortgage defaulting issue in this region, right now. So, there’s probably a higher number of empty foreclosed homes.”

          Largely due to the sticker-shock we had all experienced, we each agreed to the squatting idea, at least for a night or two. Normally, I would have been too worried about the risk, of some disgruntled neighbor or cop showing up, however as part of a group, I felt more secure. I figured that my larger allies could intimidate any bigmouth neighbor, while I could outrun most of my colleague, if I needed to get away from any officials trying to catch us.

          Our plan formed up. Gerri, Leroy, and I, would use the internet access at the library, to look-up recent foreclosure notices, real estate listings, cheap rentals, and the like. Hank, Milton, Ken, and Kyle were assigned as “appraisers”. Gerri would call the appraisers when the researchers found a potential squat and a pair of them would bus over to scout the property—for ease of access, potential nosiness of neighbors, and the like.

I verified, “I’m totally on board and will meet you at the library, as soon as I run a couple of personal errands.” I rubbed the back of my neck and glanced around the table. “In fact, my stuff would get done even faster, if I could borrow somebody’s phone.”

          The living wall, Hank, pulled out his phone, but leaned close before relinquishing it. “When you’re at the library,” he said quietly enough for only me to hear, “can you look-up my death?”

          I goggled at the earnest marble-like blue eyes.

          “Yeah,” Hank nodded, “I don’t get it either. But, as far as I could tell, someone was impersonating me, only they died on the job, back in 2005.”

          “So,” my confusion was audible, “what more do you think I can learn?”

          “You were real good with that computer yesterday.” Hank shrugged. “Just see if you can find out more…” He glanced side ways and lowered his voice even more. “And if there’s anyway to get it disproven, that would be the best.”

          I nodded and when my hand touched Hanks pebbly fingers, to take the phone, I felt another chest and body surge/tingle like I had with Jack. Once more, the feeling left me reassured, while I was also more anxious to look-up Hank's history than I had expected to be. Thos puzzle pieces had enough similarity that I felt as if I was getting a sense of that part of the picture, however nothing had clicked into place just yet. Part of me said that I should be applying more of a scientific method, but then I refocused on making my phone call and that part vanished back into the whirling pieces of my mind.

          Stepping into the parking lot, for privacy, the day was already too warm for my hat or gloves. This time, when I reached my old bank’s customer service department, I had the helpful Rep. wire-transfer my imposter's full account balance to the Western Union office, less transfer fees, of course. I had not liked massive call centers before. However, through my more paranoid perspective, I embraced the fact that there was no way the person on the other end might recognize me. Thus, if my doppelganger had also happened to be banking on the same day, no back teller would be inclined to make an idle comment about recent account activities. Plus, when my re-appropriation of funds was detected by the fake me, it would be that much harder for him to track the culprit—back to himself, in this case.

          After returning Hank’s phone, I caught the bus back to the Western Union. On the way, a half-dozen slippery little fish-thoughts kept nibbling at the edges of my ability to grasp them. The elusive buggers were shaped like the alternative names of my new teammates. Like Twilight Tommy for myself, part of me was certain that they all had protective identities, as well. As I stepped off of the bus, I could only sigh and hope that ignoring the wriggly notions would counter-intuitively make the names pop. At least, I knew the method seemed to work whenever I had tried to recall a celebrity’s forgotten name.

          After collecting my money at Western Union, I took another bus ride, to Schmidt Auto. Jack was even more surprise to see me, than he had been the night before. I had originally planned to try and reconnect a little with my old friend, even in spite of the suspicion with which he eyed my six one-hundred dollar-bills. Instead, I had obligations to my new comrades, so I had to go.

          As soon as Jack handed me the keys, I waver a little. I felt as if… well it was not quite elation and calling it _muh-gnawt_ does not do it justice, although that is closer. It was an expansiveness which seemed to ripple from my core, to flow out of my fingers and toes. Then I took a breath and realized it was the release of the odd tension that had gripped me when Jack and I had first shook on the bargain.

Mental pieces clicked into place, still not enough to see what the image was, though.     For instance, the sensations from earlier at the IHOP still tensed and hummed, when I considered them and I wondered if they too would dissipate the following day. I doubted that , though.

I luxuriated, getting used to my new-to-me black Festiva, as I drove to Athens Federal CU, for another deposit. If the money from Ms. Alstroemeria had been a tenuous lifeline, then having my own car was a solid bridge, back towards normalcy. While returning to my credit union was one of redemption, as much as fiscal security. I needed those tellers to see me dressed like a proper clean-cut adult. After the deposit, though, it was hard to resist simply driving, until my Festiva's gas ran out. However, a bridge to normal was not being normal. Normal required a lot more work, teamwork in my case, apparently.

So, I reigned in my driving wander-lust, skipped lunch, and headed to the public library. I inhaled deeply upon entering. Even though the library was kept clean, books make sweet-dry dust, the scent of knowledge, like nobody's business. On the other hand, the view was industrial 60s or 70s era, boring. At least, the floors were carpeted and the shelves made of wood.

          Throughout the afternoon, mostly Gerri and Leroy, found about a half-a-dozen potential empty homes. I helped, yet was still a bit more focused on my previous goals list. Specifically, I researched a lot on traditional Asian (Chinese in particular) culture. I believed that the Liquor store woman recognized something about my group’s condition and I wanted to find a way to butter her up. Plus, I had to follow through with my promise to look into Hank’s so-called death.

          Someone passing for Hank had died during official response to a house fire, in January 2005. I was surprised to find disciplinary reports and performance evaluations, until I discovered that pretend-Hank’s altered behavior had been traced back to the Kendal clinical trial and tied to a couple other related volunteer-patient lawsuits. Apparently, erratic behavior and dramatic alterations in personality had effected most of the study subjects. However, it was Replacement-Hank's media-attention death that solidified a class action lawsuit, which Kendal settled out of court, shortly thereafter. A lot of families (including Hank's sisters, Gerri's parents, and everyone else's doppelgangers) received fairly large monetary settlements. My stomach burned bitterly, as I imagined how my imposter had squandered that much money in less than ten years.

          I could not find any reasonable way for Hank to return to his life, without him having answers questions that none of us had. When I saw Hank later, I wound-up advising him to wait until we all learned more about what really happened to us and hope that a solution presented itself. Much later, I thought of something the big fellow might try, however that is part of another tale.

          I also grabbed a cat nap, relying on Gerri or Leroy to wake me if a librarian was coming. Although, the large black man rarely spoke or seemed to be paying attention, so my hopes were mainly with the gorgeous freckle-faced lass—in more ways than one, to be honest.

          Shortly after the library closed, our scouts reported back on the last couple of prospective properties. Our group democratically selected the nicest option, in the most affluent neighborhood. I suspected it we would draw the most attention, the fast, with our choice. Yet, I also really liked the nicer place's semblance of comfort, so I did not push my concerns.

          Long John Silver's turned out to be the most convenient rendezvous spot. The fish was almost good, after removing the breading. I also realize that the fries were as palatable and had been at all of the fast-fooderies. Then most of our group headed over to the target squat, to stagger our overall entering, while Mike and I made a supply run to Wal-Mart.

The groceries were easy stuff, apples, granola bars, some microwaveable meals (since our scouts had confirmed that there would be a working microwave), coffee, and so forth. I also took the opportunity to purchased an air-mattress, sleeping bag, and two pillows, being careful to select for durably over cost. Not only was I uncertain how long lasting I would need, I was willing to indulge in a little of my group’s brand of paranoia, se wanted my sleeping-gear to be function out of doors.

Later I would be mildly surprised that I was the only member of our collective to bother with a bed and pillows and one of the few that bought a couple of towels. Although, everyone had invested in a sleeping-bag. I would never quite be able to wrap my head around my associates lack of interest in their own comfort.

Similarly, yet more narcissistically, none of my equally bereft allies were at all impressed that I had managed to get a car, less than 24-hours after waking up with nothing but rags. Even without any of them having made any such effort, they could have expressed some appreciation of my cleverness. On the other hand, I got the impression that my colleagues simply assumed that I had stolen my Festiva, because they all had very casual reactions to crime in general. Certainly, no-one blinked twice at Ken, when he picked the lock on our temporary shelter, with no apparent effort.

          I did not even get credit for my automobile, when I went back out again, for most of them. For, as it turned out, many of my cohorts had forgotten to buy many basic sundries that would need when not staying in a stocked hotel room. Admittedly, I too had a few extra purchases to make, although mine were not exactly necessities. I intended to pick-up some small peace offering, for my return to the Liquor store. So, I was glad enough to make a list and collect their money, then go do more shopping. Any excuse to be behind the wheel, really.

          Plus, I wanted time away from the chaotic intimacy of the group. In addition to the general repetition of half-interested listeners, the name thing was especially becoming frustrating. Every time that they used any of our proper name, or even when I had to use theirs’, I felt as if we were being astoundingly rude—as if we were standing too close to the named person. I wondered occasionally if my “they’re all figments of my imagination theory, accounted for the sense of intimacy. Pretending that when I was called “Tom” they were just using a short form of “Twilight Tommy” helped a little. However, mostly getting out, on my own for a while was best. Being alone also meant that my jumbled thoughts were not competing with the group’s chaotic conversational style.

          I chewed my lip with concern, every time that I pulled into our purloined abode’s attached garage. If the neighbors narced on us, then my hard-won vehicle may be trapped. Yet, if left parked at the curb, that same nosy neighbor was more likely to get my Festiva ticketed or towed. I sighed, unwilling to put forth the effort to do the most protective thing and park at 24-hour store, then hike over to the house.

          It was close to nine-o'clock, by the time that the seven of us had picked our rooms and settled in. Other than taking turns for the shower, Milton’s window scheme had taken a lot of time. Milton’s trick was clever though, first draw the blinds, then duct-tape black garbage-bags across the window-frame. From the inside the and result looked crappy, however from outside no-one could tell if interior lights were on. So, we only had to avoid turning on lights around the rear-located family-room, with its shade and curtain free sliding glass-doors.

          Having running water and two full baths was wonderful, far better even than the working fridge, stove, and microwave. There was some grumbling for lack of a clothes washer, though. Again, I could not comprehend the inconsistency of my fellows having made purchases, with their highly limited funds, as if they had to live homeless, yet they whined when they had to wash their clothes by hand and drape them around the room to dry.

          In short enough order, our septet gathered in the finished basement, to discuss next moves. Overall pleased with our success so far, most of us still felt more uneasy than expected. Hence, the use of the more secure and harder to peek into basement.

          "I know I agreed to this to save money," Gerri said, "but all this sneaking around doesn't feel right." She sat, with her feet folded under her knees, on the unfurnished basement’s tan carpeting, her back straight as always, and her delicate cream-colored hands on the denim which hugged her thighs.

          "Yeah," Hank agreed, he stood leaning his blocky shoulders against the wall near the stairs, "it's like now that we're actually here the whole breaking and entering-ness of it is more clear. I mean this was someone's home."

          I nodded, both for outward agreement and inner acknowledgement, that yet again my comrades were coming to conclusions that I had considered hours earlier.

Ken shrugged. "'Was' being the key word." He sat against the wall opposite Hank, legs crossed at the ankle in front of him and shoulders against the wall. The fencing professor always looked weary, no matter how recently he had eaten or slept, the gaunt man looked like he had been without either for days.

          "I'd say," Milton agreed, sitting against a wall like Ken, but folded his legs like Gerri, "a little sneaking around was worth running water, toilets, and a secure place to sleep."

          "But for how long?" Gerri asked, making sure to make eye contact with long-fingered Milt.

          "Well we should probably stay here a day or two," the scarred and saggy man answered matter-of-factly, "then go to one of the other places we saw. We could probably do that for a couple of weeks, as long as we keep checking the papers for new squats."

          "Just keep breaking into places?" Hank was incredulous and sarcastic. "That's sure to go well." He refolded his squared arms over his big flannel covered chest with some annoyance

          "It's rrerr just until urm we get some rrghmoney orrrr jobs togetherererer." Pointed out Kyle in his gargle-y manner. The furry fellow had squatted in a corner, two walls supporting him and knees up in front of his chest with arms folded on top.

          "And how long is that going to take?" Ken rasped, apparently deciding to play Devil's Advocate for every position. "Especially since we don't have IDs or permanent address and will have to spend a lot of time moving our base camp around." He flexed his scar-covered hands as he spoke, as if he were working out muscle kinks.

          "Plus," Gerri added, "each time we come and go from a squat, there's a chance we'll draw unwanted attention." Her bright emerald eyes flashed as they darted around tracking everyone's positions.

          I had to agree. "Yeah, I don't care so much that we're using houses that the banks took away from people. The only ones we're taking anything from is the banks and I think they'll be fine in the end. But getting caught is not cool. If we get caught, especially, without IDs the cops and the bank will not be lenient." I had been standing next to Ken and mimicking Hank's body language, but paced and gesticulated with my golden-tan hands, while speaking.

          The conversation dispassionately went around, along those lines, for a while. We wound up to stay in that particular abode one more night, if we must, then move to one of the other pre-scouted houses. In the meantime, all of us would seek more legitimate housing. I had to rip out a whole page of my notebook, in order to not confuse these new priorities with the old ones.

          Gerri also brought up, “Since we’re talking strategies. I also want to talk to that Chinese lady again.” She absently tugged an alabaster earlobe. “From how she acted, I’m sure that she knows more about what happened to us.”

In my short acquaintance with this group, I had been underwhelmed with their ability to interact in numbers of more than two or three. So, I had not shared my intent to speak with the Liquor store clerk alone. However, since Gerri was set on going anyway, I chose to use her experience as a test run.

"I can fit three passengers in my Festiva,” I offered, in order to make sure that I would get first report of what happens, “four, if they wanted to sit on each other in the back seat. More, if someone's willing to travel in the hatch-storage."

          Only Gerri and Hank came.

 

I stayed in my car, when the three of us got to the store marked "Liquor, 24 hrs".

“Three might seem like we’re ganging up” I justified for Hank, who did not like the idea of splitting up. “Plus, I’ll be able to honk and be ready for a quick get-away, if anything does go wrong.” While I also imagined that the par might say something, with which I did not want to be associated.

          While I waited, the waning moon was too weak to pass any glow through the night-black cloud cover. I shivered, mostly from the chill evening air, only somewhat from being back in that place. I steadfastly refused to try and penetrate the weak lamplight for signs of the Kendal building or canoid movements, in the darkness. Although, I was surprised to see how close the sodium-beacon of the BP seemed, compared to just the day before… It had not even been 48-hours, since we were collected by the police, or saw the hounds… I shivered again—straining to hear into the deeper night, even as I still refused to look.

          It was about twenty-minutes before my passengers returned to my Festiva. Both were a little rattled, with Gerri leaning towards frustrated, while Hank seemed more confused. They recounted their experience in the store, back and forth, over each other and interrupting, h remembering detail that the other left out, sometimes backtracking. As a kindness to you, fair reader, I shall sum up the key information.

          The old woman was not on duty, instead an equally ancient man (presumably the woman’s husband) was behind the counter. After Gerri monetarily reimbursed the shopkeeper, for Ken’s shoplifted items, the clerk had been more communicative. The people from the Kendal clinical trial have become "Spirit Touched", no longer of this world. The spirit world is connected to this one, by the Maze on the Edge. Our group had must have successfully fled captivity in the spirit world via the Maze, returning to the mortal world, changed by our time away. The Maze on the Edge, was also called simply the Maze, the Edge, or other names, for which the man could not recall the English translation. The Edge is full of predators, like the hound-pack we had experienced. Shining Ones take mortals, often through trickery, for labor and pleasure. The ancient man did not know which Shining One had taken the Kendal volunteers. The only protection against Shining Ones, or spirit-creatures in general, that the clerk could think of, was that salt was often a deterrent. The clerk also implied that his family were all hundreds of years old…

          "Whoa!" I stopped taking notes and held up my palms to back-up the jumbled narrative a bit. "Salt, really? How much did you get?"

          I was skeptical about the fairytale explanation, yet willing to accept it with as much likelihood as any other theory I had mocked-up. Plus, I saw no reason not to try the salt thing, until proven harmful or useless. Besides, my neck-hairs actually tingled at the thought that someone had offered us a defense of some kind, whether it worked or not, I knew it was important to encourage that sort of treatment.

          My passengers blinked at each other. The weightlifter shrugged. The military lady said, "None." As if neither of them had seen the direct connection between told how to fend of unwanted spirits and having been at a store that sold the product.

          I grabbed my keys and leapt out of the car, without further comment. The other two did not follow.

          In the store, I passed by a different ancient three-tailed dog, with a pink-bow on her head and chewing on a puppy-shaped squeaky-toy. The pooch growled at me, I bowed to her, on the off chance it would matter. The growled increased. I swallowed and plowed on, quickly scanning the small store's aisles, until I located the salt. I then took one of the one-pound cylindrical Morton's containers to the register.

          Throughout, I kept a wary-eye on the three-tailed dog, she returned the treatment. However, the old canine did not move from her basket, near the entrance, lift her paw from the squeeze-toy, nor to increase in size at all. So, I told myself those were good signs, as I tried to steady my breathing.

          Pieces of my library research into Asian culture connected to pieces of the proprietors talk of spirits-creatures. If the supernatural was to be my explanation, then I believed that the store owner and his wife were fu-creatures (dogs or lions, depending on the source material) and they were both present just in opposing forms to the last time I had seen them. I could not quite accept that, however I did cling to the underlying associations. Fu-animals were employed as temple guardians, so they generally considered benevolent protector. I remained cautious, though, as I could not tell if I was considered more worthy of protecting, or being guarded against.

          From my pocket, I produced the rice wine, which I had purchased for this purpose, and placed it on the counter next to the salt. I bobbed downward, in another inexpert bow, this time to the aged man at the register. Then, clumsily explained, "I, um, I will pay for the salt, uh, the wine is a gift."

          The Asian man's wrinkled face was inscrutable, although he did reach out and accept the wine with a slight tilt of his head. I then verbally blundered forward and the shopkeeper (possibly guardian-spirit) both politely and curtly answered my clumsy questions. For the sake of my own vanity, dear reader, I shall also sum this conversation.

Mr. Shui (as I was permitted to call him) did not perform salt rituals, however he knew that the mineral was used to ward or cleanse areas against other worldly intruders, such as Shining Ones. Mr. Shui was generous enough to indulge me with another line of inquiry, as well, that of the imposters whom had apparently replaced all of us so-called spirit-touched. Shui called the imposters "Shadow Eaters". Shadow-eaters were left behind by the Shining Ones, to hide Their having been present. Once the shadow-eater has been in a life long enough to effect the original person’s connections, they are very hard to be rid of. Mr. Shui would not say “soul”, yet he did describe “shadow” in this context to be parts of a person's life-force, which can grow back, slowly. As the name implies, shadow-eaters weaken the lives of the people surrounding them, often with extremely unfortunate outcomes. Also, shadow-eaters are more of the mortal world than the spirits, so salt is not particularly effective against them.

          I had not wanted to risk being rude by taking notes, so my mind started to reel again, as I tried to retain all of the new data. Which was just as well, because that was about when I got the impression that I had received one rice-wine’s worth of information.

          I saw Mr. Shui slip a business-card in as he bagged up my Morton's. I could not tell if the surreptitious gesture had been to avoid the lady-dog from seeing. So, I clamped my mouth shut, made slightly better bows to the man and the dog, then returned to my car..

          In the Festiva, I pulled out the salt and wiggled it, to show Gerri and Hank. "When a possibly three-hundred year-old guy, who knows about _the Spirit World_ , tells you something is a protective against bad-spirits, _you_ get some of whatever he suggests ASAP!..."

          My head of steam was doused by a partial memory-flash. I almost called Gerri “Rose”… No, that felt closer, but still not right. I started driving. I wondered if it had been mu agitation, or the dim lighting, or Gerri’s red-red lips and auburn-hair that had triggered the flash. I shook my had and sighed, then remembered Mr. Shui’s gift.

"He also slipped a card, or something, in there." I gestured to the plane-brown bag. "I didn’t have a chance to look at it yet, though." Something-something Rose … Another flower maybe… or Rose something…

          Both passengers just blinked at me like I was an over-excited five year old. Gerri reached into the crinkly-bag, pulled out the card, and read aloud:

         

Ariadne’s

Sheaves & Leaves

Fine Rare Books and Teas

88 Eighth Ln

Athens, Ohio 45701

         

          The three of us pondered quietly, for the rest of the ride. The rest of our collective had gone to sleep, by the time we had returned to our dubious home-base. Mr. Shui’s information could wait for the morning to share with the others. So, Gerri, Hank, and I followed suit, crawling into our respective beddings and slumber.

         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:


	4. Chapter 4

The clouds, puffy, white and crisp, swam their lazy ways across the sky. The language of shapes was clearer than ever. I eavesdropped with my eyes.

I lay on my back on the cool grass on the hill in the warm air of the day.

_jingly-jing_

Up I pop. The musical notes compelling. Around I look, the source of the sound tantalizing.

 _jingly-jing_ _jingly-jing_

The push cart preceded The Boy, up the hill’s crest. Its chilled, sweet aromas came after.

“ _Come, come,_ ” The Boy’s voice harmonized with the bell, “ _you deserve a treat!”_

I am all rushing over. He is reaching in.

Offered up, four icy creamy delights on four sticks for holding. The choosing of only one is hard, so delicious they all must be.

Will it be the black and white circle? All swirled together, the spiral lines of a maze to play while eating.

Will it be the shiny bar? It has a candy coating shiny as silver, perhaps for reflecting?

Will it be the caramel? Brown disk with heads on each side of a coin, embossed in butterscotch: rich riches indeed.

          Will it be the chocolate glove slipped over a sugary hand? The velvety texture is beckoning to me, probing to touch flavors new.

          I want…no, not that. It should be… no, wait. I’ll…

          Pick and live with it. Picking wrong is forever. Yet picking a treat cannot be bad and a treat is what is offered.

          Glove and glass seem unfulfilling. Spiral and shekel both appeal.

          Pick one, pick one, pick one. The Boy won’t wait forever, He never does. He may change the offer altogether.

          I choose the two-faced ice-cream coin. The maze may have made a mess.

          I bite in…

 

Day 3, Thursday, November 10th

I woke, the hint of possibility lingering on my tongue. The dark empty room, met my steady gaze for several dozen heartbeats, I blinked first. It was not so dark, though, in the house which we were stealing, that I could not make my way walking. With no other clock, I would need to shuffle, barefoot, to the concrete-cold garage, wherein my Festiva’s glowing radio-clock would certainly just past three-AM. Obviously, the walking would add those extra couple of minutes. I lay there, equally certain that returning to sleep would not place me back in that sweet-fulfilling dream. Only nightmares waited on the other side of eyelids, to pounce again, once wakeful prey inevitably returns to dreamland. Nice dreams, even weird ice-cream dreams, just drift farther away on the tide of returning slumber. Especially, since I knew in my toes that I had picked right, in the end, and I _really_ wanted to go back to taste the victory.

          The dream-treat had been a gift in more ways than one, I was sure of it. There was something significant about me in that imagery, the new tan elfin me. As vividly as I could still see it, though, I could not quite fit the piece into place. I also felt the last forty-eight hours heavily; started off bruised, scratched-up, and exhausted, then at least one day of unreasonably pushing my physical limits, all capped with no more than about four-hours of sleep at any one time. So, I opted for more rest, hoping that my subconscious would do some more of the puzzle, rather than high off to some twisting mountain-scape.

          I drifted off to comparisons of my inflated mattress verses the Knight's Inn. Either bed was better than a sleeping bag on the floor, even a newly carpeted floor. I concluded that my nocturnal lot was improving. At least, the faint smells of fresh carpeting and paint were superior to the old tobacco and industrial cleansers of the hotel.

          Waking fully up, at dawn, I felt better than I had in—what was probably—over fourteen-years. Definitely clearer than the last two days. I was not whole yet, though. Physically, I was alright, most of my scrapes and bruising were gone, or not tender, at least. Mentally, I felt fairly acute, considering that I still had some form of amnesia and a pile of mental puzzle pieces. Even so, a few of those pieces were starting to arrange themselves into potential patterns. However, emotionally, or spiritually, or whatever, I was missing something. Something more than just feeling uncomfortable contacting my family, or not really having my own identity. Although, the disconnected feeling of having an impersonator certainly added unsettling weight, to the missing years. Mostly, I felt a craving, sort of like hunger, only less demanding—I did not even really notice the missing-ness, unless some other desire also arose.

          Even so, my intense dream seemed to buoy my hope, as I was sure to get whatever I was craving, soon. Something about the dream had even helped me to recognize that I had been feeling this subtle yearning since waking at Kendal. Also, something about the subconscious imagery convinced me that taking chances need not be as risky, which is not the same as feeling lucky per se. So, more subtle distinctions, with which to puzzle. Most tantalizing was that I felt as if filling up the pestering emptiness, then I would be able to effect my luck

          While pondering my dream and theories, I dressed, then packed my air-bed and the rest of my worldly possessions into my Festiva's hatch. I shrugged at the storage compartment, it was smaller than I had thought, so just as well none of my quirky new companions had wanted to ride within. I could only imagine one of the smaller group member—Gerri, Kyle, or Milton—all folded in on themselves to fit. I would never ask the pretty lass. I had one of my flashes that the hairy lad needed more freedom to stay marginally sane. However, the thought of the grumpy old bag of skin, all squished up, did tug the corner of my mouth upwards.

          The air in the garage had the crisp chill of a November morning. However, the sky seemed to promise another clear and sunny day. If it was like the day before, the temperature would reach the low to mid seventies. I hugged myself against the uncertainty of reality which the mild weather continued to invoke in me. In 2002 and earlier, Ohio November days were rarely warmer than sixty-degrees. So, I wondered if it was just my Total-Recall-style subconscious making the days seem nice.

          It was not only the temperature, I remembered laying awake in the quiet darkness. The breathing and snores of my cohorts, in the echoey unfurnished house had made me think of ghosts, restlessly haunting the halls. Recalling the moment, in the light of the garage window, I almost remembered any eerie luminance sluggishly pushing the shadows around the room. Even feeling better overall, I could not decide if I would rather the whole think be my imagination, or actual spirits. Either way, when I re-entered the house, it was reassuring that the others had started moving about and making domestic-type noises.

          The other six had were queuing up for coffee and microwave access. Hank and Gerri were the most alert and active. The rest of us were fairly zombie-like, shuffling to get showered and caffeinated. At least, I was the most function of the near-zombies, packing and the having lubricated some of the grogginess out of me. On the other hand, I watched Milton stiffly hobbling around, grim-faced and inarticulate, until he had downed a cup or two of the vile-tasting instant java.

After nuking a breakfast- burrito, I joined everyone on the dining room's floor. "Ugh!” The taste of the so-called food, made me grimace. “Has anyone had any better food luck?"

          The kitchen and family rooms had better light, however we all chose to sit or lean around further into the house, to avoid the uncovered windows. Even though the windows looked out onto the half acre back yard, there was still a chance that a neighbor might see us loitering abut and call the police or real-estate agent—neither would be helpful to us.

          "Apples are fine," Ken pointed a finger covered in a webbing of pale scars towards the fridge, from where he stood nursing his sturdy-plastic cup of coffee, "as long as you peel them first."

          "I hrrm just washed rrirr mine," mumbled Kyle, holding up his half eaten apple and smiling, "and it's rrrreal good."

          The hairy-muscular man squatted in another corner, with feet flat on the carpet and knees near his shoulder, giving the impression that he was protecting his food from view. Smiling made Kyle's long whiskers quiver. I wondered if the svelt lad’s marble-gargling speech affectation was from before or after Dr. Anwynn’s experimentations, I stopped myself from asking, though. There was not anything that Kyle could do about it now, either way.

          "Yeah," I reflected, "and the fish was okay, last night. If you could avoid the breading." I settled onto the carpeting and leaned my shoulders against the wall. "So, what are we thinking, don't eat the outside of something, unless it’s been washed off?" Fairytale logic swarmed through my head, thanks to Mr. Shui and my dream.

          Milton snorted, somewhat incredulous. "Or we figure out what they all have in common. 'Cause the coffee I got fresh ground at Starbuck's was fine, ” He sipped from his own plastic cup, “but this pre-packed stuff is even more crap than I remembered it.""

          "I think we're just not used to eating this kind of food." Hank offered from where he stood near the doorway, granola bar in one earthen hand and red-plastic cup of juice in the other. "I mean I don't know how or where, but it's pretty clear we really have been gone for fourteen-years. Wherever we were must not have had normal food." He crunched into the breakfast bar.

          "Or, we were on IV drips." Ken suggested, confirming that he had been thinking along the same lines as my Total Recall scenario, or possibly Awakenings.

Reminding me that I had not actually found anything to disprove my idea that I might still be lying in a bed at Kendal, or the like.

          "I don't know." Gerri said thoughtfully. "If it was all food then maybe, but we're only reacting to things with man-made chemicals. That's why washing the thin layer of wax and pesticides off the apples works and why the more pre-packaged it is the worse it tastes." She was the first to have finished breakfast and was doing some basic muscle stretches in one corner of the room.

          I was not the only person who had to adjust my position, when catching sight of the auburn-haired bombshell flexing. And somehow, even though I was apparently the only one in the group who had bought more than one outfit, Gerri looked freshly pressed. The rest of us, looked as if we either slept in our clothes or pulled them out of backpacks, which was what had happened. Either Gerri new some ROTC trick, or the firmness of her body pressed her clothes, from the inside out.

          Milton and I liked Gerri's reasoning, while the others did not think it precluded Hanks theory. Except for Leroy, who did not join the conversation. We could not know if we would require time to reacclimatize, or if we actually could not process the chemically enhanced food, as we once had. The previous two days had not effected anyone's digestion, even so, as a precaution we agreed that avoiding the most obviously manufactured foods would be a good idea. Although, that did not stop Hank from suggesting pizza at every other meal time. If the lump of terracotta ever had taste-buds, they were gone by that point.

          The talk of plant related chemicals and pesticides, provoked a more definitive flash in the tumult of my mind. Gerri was Tegan. Tegan… something, I still felt like there was supposed to be something to do with Rose or Roses… Absolutely, Tegan, though, it was so right, the piece fit so unshakably well that I could not budge it even a little from my certainty. Which did not stop me from pouting at the likelihood that the epiphany was simply a deepening of my madness. Besides, all of had had more pressing concerns. Not to mention the probability of me being mocked. So, I kept the revelation to myself, until such time as those drawbacks were not relevant.

          Again, Hank insisted on recounting dreams, over breakfast, and surprisingly the rest of the party went along with it. Even with Mr. Shui’s suggestion that fairytale-type forces were at play, I simply felt that dreams were private. More so, listening to other people's dreams always bored me to no end. Thus, I tuned out quite a bit during that part of our discussion, not really tracking the specifics of who dreamt what.

          Although, it was admittedly unnerving how closely everyone's dreams had paralleled my own. Even more than at the IHOP, where our nightmares shared vaguely similar themes, this conference only revealed cosmetic differences within dream settings, gift givers, and gifts. An observation which the others also came to and that threatened to keep them babbling about subconscious imaginings all day.

          "I agree,” I tried to apply some perspective, without getting into my own personal dream, “it's totally strange that everyone seemed to have had the same core elements in their dreams. A figure of authority: grandparent, boss, master, etcetera." I nodded or pointed to the people that I thought had provided each relevant example. "An offering of a choice of four objects, always in variants of a maze—tangled vines, child's toy, knotwork-embroidered hanky," again I gestured to my best guess of the original contributor, for each example, "a coin—poker chip, wooden nickel, smiley faced pancake. A mirror—foil candy wrapper, shallow bowl of water. And, a hand—catcher's mitt, mechanical hand, child's drawing of a "turkey", and so on." I held my palms upward and shrugged. "Otherwise, the individual dreams were themed radically different—trapped in a garden hedge, trading at a desert bizarre, and so forth."

          I tried to meet each person's eyes, "Look, we have just gone through, scratch that, are going through essentially the same traumatic experiences and since we're doing a lot of the same things to cope. Heck, we've even banded together to squat in this place." I shrugged one shoulder. "It just seems most plausible that our subconscious minds might make similar metaphors to cope with it all."

          Privately, I was also filing away that Ken was Wade. The definitive flash had hit me when the weatherworn man had been going on about the wind-up trinkets that his dream tinker had offered. As with Tegan, Wade was a shorting of a longer pseudonym, yet I was just as confident that it was right.

I would continue to collect these safety-names, as I thought of them. The alternate titles would quickly feel so much more appropriate that, within a few days, I would be having to make a conscious effort to swap in their original names for these safer ones, when addressing them.

          Meanwhile, I had only partially believed the argument that I had made regarding the dreams. However, my gambit had worked to switch the conversational track. Gerri (Tegan) started us along the line of information which had been collect at Shui's liquor store, as well as goals for the day. The Information from Mr. Shui was received with notably less enthusiasm than the dreams, although not much more skepticism, and was passed over quickly. I clenched my jaw at the lack of exploration into theories around the Shui data, mostly because I had taken a few mythology related classes which would have given me some authority in the discussion.

          However the topic had moved on to actions for securing more stable accommodations, so I was willing to forgo showing of my year of being a literature undergrad. For the house hunt Hank, Kyle, and I would use my Festiva to check the net at the library, as well as bulletin boards at grocery stores and the university. The others wound up with tangential missions.

          Our discussion had broadened to other areas of general security and Gerri (Tegan) looked at a card that she had taken from her green and brown plaid shirt-front pocket, "I'm wondering if there might be some help for us, at this Sheaves & Leaves place."

          "Like a copy of House Squatting for Dummies?" Milton suggested with gruff sarcasm.

          " _Or_ ," Gerri (Tegan) rolled her sparkling emerald-eyes, "there might be somebody there that knows more about our situation. There were a lot of other people in that damn clinical trial." She shrugged one shoulder as she re-pocketed the card (I strained to watch her rosy lips, not the actions of her alabaster fingers). "Maybe one of them has gone through this all, already, or knows more people from the trial... or, yes, there might even be a book that will help. The card says the books are rare and that is the kind of help that we seem to need."

          "Hey, T… um, Gerri," I interjected, "I don't want to derail the topic or anything, but did you put on, uh, make-up this morning?" I corrected myself from saying "new make-up" as the woman had already made it clear that the previous colorations had been fixed in place.

          "No, why?" Gerri (Tegan)'s voice was hesitant.

          "Well," I circled a finger around my own face, "um, your tattoos or whatever that look like make-up are different colors, uh, than the other day."

          At O'Bleness Gerri (Tegan) had mint-green eye-shadow and matt-rose lips. In the purloined house, the shapely ladies lips were a darker glossy-red with a much browner-green mascara. Gerri (Tegan) hurried to the bathroom mirror to verify and returned agreeing that the cosmetics appearance had changed, yet she still could not manually remove or alter it.

          "Is it, like mood make-up?" Hank asked from where he leaned against the wall, square thumbs in his jean pockets.

          "I don't think so." Gerri (Tegan) replied. "But you all would be able to tell better. I'm mostly just neutral right now, let me know if the colors change again at some point."

          I spent a moment trying to fix in my mind the hues of the woman's impossible cosmetics. I was pretty sure her nail polish had also changed to match her newer glossy petite-bow lips.

          Then the topic returned to Sheaves & Leaves and it was eventually settled that the athletic auburn-haired damsel and Ken (Wade) would take a bus over to the book/tea shop. The pair’s goal was to find out what they could and report back to the rest of our troupe. I did not bother hiding my jealousy about not getting to go to the bookstore. Unfortunately, the chauffer duty was necessary if we really wanted to stop breaking into homes for sleep and was not willing to entrust my Festiva to anyone else’s driving.

          At some point, Milton had also produced a small card, betwixt his spindly-fingers, "Yeah, I should probably check on this Magog character too."

          "Who?" Ken (Wade) furrowed his wind-burnt brow.

          "When I signed for my money." The hard-boiled narrator explained. "I implied to the Alstroemeria dame that I might be interested in doing some more of this volunteer type work." I swear, he said dame. "I figured it might be a lead back to Doc Anwynn, assuming that birds of a feather might know each other, as it were." He paused to make sure he had everyone's attention. "So, she gave me the name Magog and an address here in town."

          After a little more discussion, Hank observed, “I should probably go with it. None of us should be solo. Plus, this Mag-whoever is likely to be more dangerous than a bookstore or house hunting.”

          I could not tell if Hank was just being protective of our member with a limp, or he was hoping for trouble.

          “Nah,” Leroy’s voice was low and deep, yet commanded attention for its rarity, “I’ll go with Milton.”

          It was clear, to me at least, that Leroy was more interested in the potential danger, than playing bodyguard.

          At some point the subject of Solanna arose. Although, like the dream stuff, I mostly tuned out, assuming that the creepy-girl had followed through with going her own way, where I had failed. My only contribution to the topic was to point out, “Solanna is an adult, right? So, is responsible for herself.” I ran my hands through my hair, rather than itch my palms at the thought of what Solanna had done to the nurse. “I mean, her attacking that nurse withstanding… I guess.”

My comrades remained more focused on Solanna having been one of the Kendal volunteers. So, most of them felt more protective than me. Although, it really sounded more proprietary than protective. On the other hand, our forces (such as they were) were already spread fairly thin, so it was decided that if any of us had a chance, we would stop by the hospital and IHOP, to see if Solana was around.

Gerri (Tegan’s) concluding point being, “If nothing else, we can give a list of our phone numbers.”

 

My team of three was most fruitful, to an almost serendipitous extent. After picking up a copy of the campus newspaper, Kyle read it, enroot to the public library. Several students had posted adds, looking to sublease rooms, mostly in shared apartments. However, one advertised a whole house, off campus. Hank called, while I was driving, and set up to see the house right away. We wound up not even bothering with the library.

          The location was on a quarter acre plot, surrounded by slight variations of the same kind of homes. It was only a mile, or so, from the town's center. So, an easy walk to the library, hospital, and shopping, for those without a vehicle.

It turned out that the three tenants had only just got the posting printed that morning. The house was a 3 bed, 1 bath, ranch-style, with attached garage, finished basement, and came with central air, a full set of kitchen appliances (including dishwasher), and a clothes washer and dryer. The tenants were even legitimately going through the landlord for the sublet. Best of all, we could move in as soon as we paid the first month and signed the lease.

Because e of the landlord’s awareness, none of our collective would have to pretend to be the previous tenants. The seven of us would still have to pretend to only be three tenants, though. Which was still far better than breaking into unoccupied homes.      Plus, even if my allies could not follow through with such a simple rues, as I suspect would be true about a couple of them, it would still probably take the landlord a few weeks to work out deception and evict us. By which time, I fully expected to have gotten my life on a new and better track, one which would not involve relying on such slapdash dealings.

Adding utility costs, Kyle calculated that it would be about two-hundred dollars per month, for each of our septet. Which was fine, although I did start hoping that Solanna would be found and brought on board, to reduce that figure a little more.

          Overall, it was an amazing deal. I felt as if the luck of finding the place so easily might have had something to do with my dream. Yet, I could not even imagine how to explain the impression to my companions. We even benefited from the previous tenants not questioning us as thoroughly as I am sure the landlord would have. As it was, the exiting students did not even ask any of us for any identification. On the other hand and in retrospect, that may have all been a series of little caution signs which we should have read. Plus, Hank, Kyle, and I were all leery asking too many questions of our own, for fear that the leasers might start doing the same.

          The girl, representing all three departing roommates, smiled with unbridled relief, when me and my two cohorts signed the lease, on the spot. The three of us were also able to cover the initial rent payment, I had my own flush of relief when both Kyle and Hank had produced paper currency. We were confident that the rest of our allies would be okay with the rental-house and that we would get reimbursed for their shares. At least, Hank used his go-along-jovial attitude to convince me of eminent reimbursing.

          Signing the paperwork gave me that _thrum-twinge_ feeling again, only this time I was dealing with a female. I had been concerned that the mysterious-nefarious Dr. Anwynn had messed with my brain-chemistry, so that I felt weird when touching or dealing with other men. My reaction to signing the lease shook that hypothesis, then it broke when I remembered the same thing happening with Gerri (Tegan) at the IHOP. I still had a couple of other theories attached to the puzzle piece, though. It was probably the first time that I really grasped the idea that a negative result could still be useful.

          Hank and Kyle called the rest of our roommates. By report, the relief that everyone else expressed over the phone, as each was informed of our new, much more legal, living quarters, was palpable. Except for Leroy, who had merely said "cool", after a long pause. As with Kyle's garbled speaking, I wondered if whatever Kendal had done made the large cat-eared man so aloof, or if they had just taken a cue from his original cat-like nature.

Since the previous occupants had already cleared out all of their stuff, we only needed to start moving in. my revised mission for the day became to play taxi—or maybe, soccer dad—driving my allies stuff over from the squat and taking them to and from places—Sheaves & Leaves, the library, grocery store, Wal-Mart, even O'Bleness Memorial looking for Solana. As much as I enjoyed driving, I was still grateful that as a whole we had very little actual stuff to move. Although, our collective gear did increase, when Kyle and I convinced the others to chip in on basic shared items, such as pots and pans, food, dishes, cutlery, cleaning and laundry supplies, and the like.

 

The seven of us finally congregated, for dinner, on the tan carpeting of our new rental-home's living room. Gerri had known about a decent brand of dehydrated refried-bean, that had practically zero additives, so that plus some pan fried ground-meat, cheese, thoroughly washed vegetables, and tortillas, meant we had very nice burritos to eat. After generic comments about how no-one else seemed to recognize our weird appearances and how unseasonably warm it seemed, Milton recounted his and Leroy’s adventure of the day.

"I knew the address looked weird to start with." The grumpy man referred to the location Inca Alstroemeria had provided. "I figured, it would be an office or municipal building or somethin’. Nope," he waved his elongated-fingered hand in front of himself, as if erasing a white-board, "it was a bridge—under the bridge to be precise.” One narrow digit made a down and under swoop.

“There's a little cardboard, bum-village down there,” Milton took a bight of burrito and spoke around chewing, “on the riverbank. With maybe twenty guys. There are a few oil drum fires and lots of make-shift box houses. Most of the…" Milton rolled his plain brown eyes as if exasperated with political correctness. "inhabitants, were watching a pair of their buddies fight, over a hunk of meat."

          Incredulity played across the faces of those of us listening.

          "I swear it." Milton raised his right hand, like a row of pencils, and looked to Leroy.

          The big felinoid-guy just nodded and chewed, sitting off to the side with his feet folded under his knees and a paper plate balanced in the bowl of his lap. I am not even sure Leroy heard any of us most of the time, although one of his fur covered triangular-ears did twitch at each new speaker or other sound.

          "Anyway," Milton rolled his mud-colored eyes again and went on, "I head to one of the guys not watching the fight and tell ‘im I wanted to see Magog. He looks sideways at the largest cluster of boxes and asks me if I have an appointment." Milt shakes his head slightly and excessive skin continued to move for a second longer than the rest of his face. "I can't tell if the guy's serious or crazy. So, I say I don't have an appointment. The guy gets a twinkle in ‘is eye and says, 'Okay buddy, good luck. Magog's over there, sleeping' he points to the boxes he's been eyeing. So, I went over cautiously." He took a sip from his beer bottle.

          "Leroy," Milton looked sarcastic towards the engineer, "kept me _covered_ from the edge of the camp."

          The black man still seemed unfazed, staring at Milton for a moment. Again, I wondered if Leroy even heard the old man's comment, or it he was just off in some daydream world.

          Milt huffed out an exasperated sigh. "As I got closer to the box pile, I could hear snoring getting louder. I rounded a large refrigerator-box and saw two huge bare-feet sticking out of the box. And, they had to be bare, ‘cause I'm sure no-one can make shoes that big." His eyes widened with the memory.

"lookin’ around, the guy that directed me over, gave me a nod and a thumbs up.” Milton mimicked the gesture with his distorted hand. “He's also called a couple of ‘is buddies over, to watch me.” A rueful nod. “I may not always know etiquette, but I know when to be diplomatic. So, I left the area. walked to the liquor aisle of the Sheetz station, just past the bridge, and bought me a couple of bottles of nice cheap diplomacy." Milton seemed to remember his own drink and took a couple of deep swallows from his Corona bottle.

          The rest of us chuckled. Ken (Wade) even had to put down his glass of wine to avoid spilling it.

          "When I got back,” Milton swallowed another bight of food, “the onlookers where surprise to see me. I went over and prodded Magog's foot with my boot. When he finally lumbered up and out of his box, he stood close to eight feet tall, if he was an inch."

          I held in a new laugh at the mental image of the Tallwind having to crane his neck to see who he was speaking to…. Tallwind?! Milt's safety-name, it was something Tallwind. For some reason the implied height of the wrinkled fellow’s safe name and the described size of Magog had clicked that that partial puzzle piece into place.

          Milton (now Tallwind) had continued with his tale, "Magog stared at me with ‘is one peeper. And I don’t mean that he was missing an eye. I mean the big guy’s one and only orb was centrally located,” he tapped a pointy fingertip between his own dull eyes, “with no room for another. The ground might’ve shook when he rumbled, 'What you want?!', or maybe I was just swaying from the shock wave that slammed into me."

          Another extra wiggly head shake. "Whatever the case, I held out the first bottle and Magog took it with a grin, full of big square teeth. He polished off the whole thing in a few swallows. From there, I tried to ask a few questions, but honestly, I could barely remember what I was doin’ there. All I can say is, starin’ up at a real life cyclops is damn intimidatin’." He took another large swig of beer.

          "Mostly," Milton concluded, "Magog seems to be a sort of crime boss. He said he could employ me. He implied lots of strong-arm kind of work. If all of this fairy-land stuff is real," his twiddled his stick-like fingers in the air, "then I get the feeling like Magog’s a low level version of Anwynn. Like a Lieutenant-type compared to the Doc's Generalissimo status."

          The burn-scarred Shamus’s words clearly cast the room into introspection. I presumed that the others, like myself, were reflecting on Dr. Anwynn. I remembered being told that Anwynn was the head researcher for the Kendal clinical trial and his name had undersigned the copies of the contracts which Ms. Alstroemeria had shown us. Only, none of us had ever met the clinician. Plus, when I was looking into Hank’s supposed demise, Anwynn’s name never came up in any related court proceedings, so I was beginning to wonder if the bad doctor had merely duped Kendal, like he had the rest of us. And how did any of that fit with what Mr. Shui had said? Does it matter? I sighed, if nothing else, Anwynn’s name tended to slip out of my thoughts, so occasional reminders were useful for recalibrating my sense of violation and the related quite seething-rage.

          Reviewing my mental puzzle, with Anwynn in mind, made my wonder if he was also responsible for the clones, or shadow-eaters, or whatever they were. If Mr. Shui was right, did that make Anwynn one of the Shining Ones? How did the insidious doctor fit with too-vivid dreams, alchemical specialist accounts archivists, probable fu-creatures, fourteen missing years, and all the rest? Was there even a meaning to know? The ideas which shot chills through my spine to my fingers and toes, then back again, was that I regardless of who Anwynn was or the why of what happened, I was pretty confident that it was not just in my head. Which meant the next hurdle was, am I really crazy and just talking myself into not realizing it?

          Inevitably, the conversation eventually resumed, with its distinctly story-time vibe. Since no-one had bought a TV or radio, there was not much else we could do, anyway. Gerri (Tegan) and Ken (Wade) picked up the metaphorical sharing-stick and reported the fruits of their exploration.

          "Ariadne's," the raspy fencing instructor said, after wiping his thin mouth on a paper towel, "that is, Sheaves & Leaves, seems to be a meeting place and private club for... what are we calling ourselves? Spirit-touched?" He glanced around for consensus. The rest of us nodded or shrugged indifference.

          I leaned forward, torn between the excitement of finding others, and the desire to scream at the duo for not speaking up sooner.

          "Yeah," Gerri (Tegan) added "It's like a converted Victorian style house. Rooms and aisles full of old books and in one room is a coffee and tea shop. But, we did not exactly see any confirmation that any of the people there were like us."

          I deflated back against the wall.

          "I don't know," said Ken (Wade), wagging his plastic fork towards Gerri (Tegan), "there was something weird about the girl behind the desk and there was the brass around the inner lip of the doorway, a solid band of the metal, etched with lots of different languages. I guessed they all said the same thing, but we only recognized one that may have been Latin or Greek. It said 'Terra Nullis', which I figure means No Man's Land… Plus, there was the membership thing."

          "Membership?" I prompted, back to eager, with the hint of a proper collection of old books to be had.

          "There are dues to get in the private book collection." Gerri (Tegan) said around a mouthful of burrito.

          "And a membership contract to sign. And the contract is odd." Added Ken (Wade).

That sent a tension through the room. After Kendal, we were all gun-shy of unusual paperwork.

          "Rrr odd how?" Kyle’s thick burrito held halfway to his mouth.

          "Well, we both studied it pretty close," answered Ken (Wade) and Gerri (Tegan) nodded agreement, "and there's no super tiny, fine print. But there was some odd phrasing. The oddest bit of a line about 'part of anything created on the premises, belongs to Ariadne'."

          "That," the freckle-faced lass agreed further, "and the lengths of membership. They have one day, a week, month, and annual membership fees, which seem normal enough.” She tossed her delicate hand to he side dismissively. “But, there’s also lunar, per solstice, and every a nine day option. What is that about? nine days." Her head shook in mild confusion, the ends of auburn waves just long enough to sweep invisible motes from her set shoulders.

          "What do you get for joining?" I asked and bit off more of my second burrito. The mostly unprocessed ingredients were far more delicious, than all of the chemical flavors from every other meal over the previous few days.

          Ken (Wade) answered with a one shoulder shrug. "You get access to the rare books room."

          That was what I wanted to hear. Books meant research and that would have been enough for me. Assuming that Ken (Wade) and Mr. Shui were both right, then it seemed as if our group were not the only people effect in this amnesiatic/lost time/physically altered way. The bookstore membership deal also implied that the weirdness was not undocumented, since someone must have recorded their experiences—I knew that it is what I would have done, after all. Plus, the situation must be rare, so where better to start investigating than a rare books room, for spirit-touched only?

Then again, Sheaves & Leaves could just be a group of people willing to foster and prey on the delusional; our scouts had not exactly gotten to the bottom of anything on their first visit. So, I kept my enthusiasm in check.

          “Oh, I almost forgot.” Gerri (Tegan) set her plate to the side and hopped up to rummage in the front closet (where her coat was). “Here you go Tom. It’s the best that I could find in their regular-public store, for the mystic uses of salt.” She handed my a fairly thick used paperback book.

          I saw the extra twinkle in the beauty's emerald eyes and knew she was trying to tease me for my over reaction at the liquor store the night before. I did not care to rise to the bait, for two reasons. Firstly, it was seeming more and more likely that a book like the one she handed to me would be far more valuable than I would have previously predicted. Secondly, the upward quirk to Gerri (Tegan)'s cupie-doll mouth revealed the hint of adorable dimples in her milky smooth cheeks which filled me with intense positivity.

          As I smiled and thanked the pretty lass, I reflected on how long it had been since my face had felt that shape upon it. Even securing a car, bank account, and home had been moments of relief, not joy. Certainly like the rest of my company, the past few days had offered an occasional rueful or mirthless chuckle, or that laugh at Milton (Tallwind)’s expense. Even Gerri (Tegan)’s mischievous grin had been more calculating, than happy.

          Our conversation wrapped-up with reminders that everyone’s next steps were to find employment, even if it was just temporary. I encouraged, “We’ll each need another hundred-and-fifty bucks for December's rent. Since that's a few weeks away, I'm guessing that shouldn't be too hard for any of us." I glanced at the combined mass of Hank and Leroy. "The extra cost for communal supplies, might get high, though. So, we'll need to revisit what everyone owes, by the end of the month, as well."

          The two muscular men that I singled out had already proven how much food they could put away, just on their own. Plus, I was considering the higher cost fresh and unprocessed ingredients. Everyone agreed.

          Shortly thereafter, we all settled down to bed, well I did, the rest settled down to sleeping bags. Gerri (Tegan) got the smallest bedroom to herself, which was jealousy inducing, but as the only female, it seemed necessary, or polite, or whatever. Kyle, Milton (Tallwind), and Leroy shared one unfurnished bedroom, while Ken (Wade), Hank, and I were in the last one. None of us men had desired privacy enough to head into the cold basement and the picture-window in the living room defeated the privacy intention.

          I fell asleep, reading my new book by the glow of moonlight, through the window (bare of blinds or curtains, as were they all). I was almost convincing myself that with the interesting reading and all of the basic neckties generally successfully in place, I was sure to sleep well. I was even still the only member of the house to have invested in an air-mattress, so I felt quite regal floating above my sleeping comrades.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:


	5. Chapter 5

Argents … _Buzzes_ …

Verdants… _Hums_ … Azures… _Rumbles_ …

Sables… Indigos… _Susurrations_ …

Crimsons... _Thrums_ …

Golds…

         

Day 4: Friday, November 11th

Waking, within my sleeping-bag, floating on the mattress of air, was precariously pleasant, I only had to overcome the uneasy tension of not being fully certain that I was awake. It seemed that odd to have mostly slept through to morning. I had sort of woke, in the darkness, to half-register that Hank was fiddling with his flip-phone.

          In the fairly bright moonlight, the coarse-skinned guy noticed me and whispered, "It's three-o'clock." He folded his phone shut and laid it on the carpet, next to his head. "You okay?"

          "Yeah," I reported with groggy relief, "not even sure why I woke up."

          "Yeah," Hank nodded his remarkably rectangular head, "me too. Probably just habit from the last couple of nights." He yawned and rolled onto his side. "Probably should just try… to get… back… to…" I could not be sure which one of us drifted back to sleep before the end of that sentence.

          Even waking more properly before the sun had fully risen, I was only almost the first house member to the shower. So, I made use of my time, waiting for the single bathroom, to attend to my laundry. I made a mental note to buy more pajamas, as I stood in my one flannel set and loaded the sum-total of the rest of my wardrobe into the washer. I made certain to set the dial to hot/hot, then smiled mischievously when Tegan (Gerri)'s yelp echoed from the shower. Which was enough fun for me, so I reset the dial to all cold, before returning upstairs.

          By the time the redheaded bombshell had finished bathing, the rest of the household was awake, largely thanks to her involuntary and vocal response to rapidly chilled, then heated, water. As further affirmation of dream-luck, Tegan (Gerri) seemed to have forgotten about the water prank, by the time she had relinquished the bathroom. Meanwhile, I started a large pot of oatmeal cooking, which Tallwind (Milton) finished making, when I took my turn in the shower.

Oatmeal with rinsed dried-fruits and almonds proved to be as tasty as the previous day’s burritos. Although, my Tetley's tea still had a hint of unnecessary perfumy flavor. So, Tegan (Gerri)'s theory, that chemically treated or processed foods were the real problem, seemed to be panning out.

          Our collective once more sprawled around our living room, eating from the from white plastic-bows, with black plastic-spoons, and drinking from red plastic-cups (all purchased in bulk). Although, there were also ceramic mugs, for those of us that wanted coffee or tea, instead of milk or juice. Kyle had wanted to by proper plates and cutlery with the communal budget, hut the majority ruled in favor of the disposables, for the time being. It had seemed more practical considering our relatively transitory status.

          Hank’s daily ritual for dream-telling was blissfully short lived. Everyone reported an equally dream and nightmare free slumber. Although, Tegan (Gerri) and Kyle had also woke briefly, around three.

          "Well," I asserted with a flourish of my spoon, "since we now have clothes, reliable shelter, and a reasonable amount of food, we just have far less anxiety. Less anxious means less fuel to drive weird dreams. It totally fits with what I said yesterday."

          My companions faces told me that they all remained unconvinced. Admittedly, I agreed with them, however there was also no reason to change the position I had taken the day before.

          After confirming a lack of dreams, I was somewhat elated when Tegan (Gerri) brought up the need for employment issue again. it confirmed that I was not the only one of us paying attention to the budget. Plus, I worried that the others had forgotten our group’s basic future needs, as much as they seemed to have forgotten their old lives and families. On the other hand, I was keeping comments about the people from my old life, or the imposter that seemed to be ruining it, to myself. So, it was probable that my allies felt as pained, about there own past selves. Although, in hindsight, I would suspect that a couple of my cohorts had lost far too much of their humanity to be concerned with such aspects of whom they had used to be.

          "It's going to be kinda hard to get hired," Wade (Ken) rasped matter-of-factly, "without IDs and social security cards."

          "Pft." Tallwind (Milton) snorted into his coffee. "All kinds of places hire under the table, especially to avoid havin’ to deal with payin’ taxes or insurance." His right hand, the long digits like the skeleton of a Japanese hand-fan, flapped slowly. "Pretty much any private-owned bar or restaurant hires servers or dishwashers, on the down low… Any small business really. Generally, mom-and-pop set-ups like to verify that new employees are reliable, before they go through the hassle of governmental paperwork."

          "Also," Hank stood with his rocky-fists on his square-ish hips, near the kitchen, "lots of homeowners will pay cash for short-term odd-jobs, like deck building, painting, or weather proofing their windows."

          “Has everyone seen Craig’s List?” I looked around. “It pretty much seems to be the new personal ads. They have a whole section for stuff like Hank’s talking about.”.

          So, in short order, the seven of us were headed back to the library, for more free internet access. That is, after Kyle and Tegan (Gerri) made sure gather up everyone's dirty plastic-ware, into a trash bag. It would become blear that those two were a little OCD about the post-meal clean-up, however I was glad to keep quiet and let them take care of it.

          Since the library was so close, our group walked through the overcast morning. Even though cooler than the last couple of mornings, no precipitation threatened. Although, that seemed to change the closer I strolled to either Wade (Ken)'s aura of damp-leaf smell, or Tallwind (Milt)'s fresh-rain scented radius.

          All of my colleagues, in fact, continued to exude their weird sounds or smells. When mentioned, each would confirm perceiving the effects in other, yet not themselves, and no related tingling or nausea or other physical sensations. Sometimes, I caught myself tight-lipped at their aura-bubbles for providing them all with extended presences, in any space.

          I also noticed “Hey, uh, “ I mental correct from Tegan to, “Gerri, your make-up’s different again, isn’t it?”

"Yes," the alabaster-skinned lass sighed, "I checked the mirror several times yesterday, like when I was so happy that we could move out of that other place and when I was getting tired. No change. But, before my shower this morning it was different, and changed again after I got dressed.”

          "Convenient." Wade (Ken) had observed.

          " _Oh, yeah_ ," Tegan (Gerri) breathed sarcastically, "because I always wanted to look like I was going partying twenty-four seven." Which effectively put an end to that topic.

          Shortly thereafter, our gang had to negotiate the relatively narrow sidewalk, around a storefront, from which a mother and squalling toddler were emerging. Then, without warning, Leroy had turned around and briskly walked away. For some reason the stoically indifferent panther-man’s was also breathing heavier.

Wade (Ken) caught Leroy up, yet returned alone and blanch-faced. It took a minute or so, before the grey-eyed fencing professor sorted out his mind enough to confide, "He, looked feral. His slit pupils had gone almost all black and he had a mouth full of sharpened teeth." Wade (Ken) waved a scar-hashed hand up and down, in front of his mouth. "I mean, they were _all_ pointy, like needle-sharp. I didn't think they were like that, did you?" He looked to each of us and received head-shakes all around.

Hank rubbed the back of his neck, a faint stone on stone grinding noise could be heard, "He hardly ever says anything, so I can't say as I ever got a good look."

          "His teeth are probably why he doesn't talk," Tallwind (Milton) hobbled along, yet his burn left-side did not impede his speed very much.

          The image of Leroy stalking away and the discussion of his teeth, caused me to flash on his safety-name, Rai. Yet another abbreviation, connected to an impression of heavy foliage. Plus, an almost memory of a lot of time following the big Rai-beast… I sighed, self conscious of mentioning my alternate name flashes. Even if I was not crazy, I had gone so long without mentioning the ideas that I felt silly just trying to figure out how to broach the subject.

          So, Wade (Ken), Tegan (Gerri), Tallwind (Milton), Kyle, Hank, and I continued on to the library. Still chatting as we plodded along.

          "Now that we have an address," Tegan (Gerri) suggested, "we should be able to get actual replacement IDs. At least it should be easier." She marched, well strutted, in the lead, wearing a waist length jean-jacket, which made it hard for my eyes not to her very-toned and equally denim-clad behind.

          "Replacement IDs," Tallwind (Milton) limped a little behind me, next to Hank, with his distorted hands shoved deep into his pockets and head hunched down, grumbled, "still need proof of residence and a birth certificate. Just telling the DMV where you live ain’t going to cut it."

          "Sure," Wade (Ken), from my other side, "but proof of residence could just be a bill with the person's name and the correct address… So, if we put Tom, Hank, and Kyle on electricity, gas, and water, respectively, then we just need to wait for first bills. Then after that we can swap on three new names.” He scratched his leathery skin. “So, it’ll probably take a couple of months to cover everyone.”

          "Maybe not." Suggested Hank, over his broad shoulder, "I’m pretty sure that each utility will allow at least two names and probably three."

          "Okay, sure, but that still means at least a month, before the first bills show up." Wade (Ken), rolled his dull-grey eyes, a little exasperated.

          "And you still need the birth certificate, to get the drivers license." Added Tallwind (Milton).

          "Alright, alright," Tegan (Gerri), held up both elegant hands, "I said it should be easier, not easy."

          I sighed and shook my head, disappointed that I was going to give away information that I had put effort into finding. "If anyone's interested, I know where you can get decent fake IDs. I’ll bet that they’re good enough to get a job with, if there’s no serious background check." I produced my fake license, to validate my claim.

There was a small hubbub over my photo appearing with my old face.

“Yeah, well,” I snatched my card back and tucked it away. “it never occurred to me that you all would see that image. I mean I know, Gary, um the guy who made claimed that it looked to him the same as I did.” I shrugged. “I guess pictures just show the appearances that all of the unchanged people seem to see.

A Barrage of questions hit me all at once, “Was it the camera?”, “Did you do something specific?”, “Will any camera work?”, “What about video?”, “Why can you see it, buy not in mirrors?”, and the like. Before I could assert that I had no further answers, the group devolved into most of them realizing that they really could probably start interacting with people, free of be labeled freaks. I simply boggled at the apparent fact that, in three days, none of them had noticed that no librarians, store clerks, and so forth, had reacted as if their oddities were visible. At least, Wade (Ken) and a couple of the others resumed their strides with more confidence in our “get everyone jobs” plan.

          As usual, I had been ahead of my group’s curve, and had already scoured the classified for my interests, bartending—how hard could it be in a college town, with every just asking for beer. So, at the library, I spent my time filling out and printing the forms for replacement birth certificate and Social Security Cards. Even with my shadow-eater look-a-like on the loose, I knew that I would need the legal identification, eventually. Plus, the mailing time involved with the replacement forms would give me time to think of a solution for that doppelganger problem.

          Although, I noticed that Tegan (Gerri) was also following through with the same forms, I generally avoided looking into my comrades activities. As curious as I was, I did not want to risk opening the possibility to another mass questioning about my own paperwork. Even so, it was hard not to pay a bit more attention to the athletic lady in our midst.

          More fascinating than Tegan (Gerri)’s documents, though, was her odd reaction to one of the normal people in the library. The auburn-haired lass had gone stock-still, staring through the slats of a bookshelves in a remote corner of the library. I could just make out, that Tegan (Gerri) was fixated on the back of a teen boy's head, where he sat at a solo computer terminal tucked into the corner.

          Hank went over and gently guided the petite lady back to where our group. Meanwhile, Kyle and Tallwind (Milt) looked flustered as they jumped up and scuttled out of the building. I did not think the duo was afraid of an altercation breaking out, yet could imagine no other reason for the exodus. Tegan (Gerri)'s milky cheeks were also flushed a deep pink, in fact the typically over-rigid ROTC cadet seemed loose and blissed out, as if she was on E.

“Are you okay? Did that kid do something?” Wade (Ken) asked the unfocused lass, clearly coming to my same conclusion.

Hank straightened up and flexed big rocky fists, as if he was going to storm over to the teenager.

“No. no.” Tegan (Geri) patted the air dramatically and slurred slightly. “it’s fine. Be cool, nothing- happened.” She was practically a parody of a drunk feigning sobriety.

          "Did he give you something?" I incredulously nodded to the apparently oblivious teenager.

          "No…" Tegan (Gerri) shook her head more vigorously than the response warranted. "No-no-no, nope, not at all." She took a deep breath and seemed to be consciously avoiding looking at the boy in the corner. "Everything is fine. I am fine. No one gave me anything, so we can just drop it. Okay?"

          We acquiesced, and logged everyone out, including Kyle and Tallwind (Milton). Everyone had resorted to web surfing by then anyway. Then we collected our furry and wrinkled allies, out front, and headed on to Gary’s.

         

The petty forger was clearly pleased with me for providing so many new customers, even if none of them looked like his usual college freshmen clientele. Although, Gary was thrown when Wade (Ken) asked for a fake birth certificate and Tallwind (Milton) suggested a passport.

          "Um, yeah, dudes…" Gary’s bloodshot eyes looked at my companions with a mixture of pleading and pity. "Like, there's not a lot of call for that here, in town" He scratched his head. "I mean, like, I might be able to get in touch with a guy, but that'll take some time. And it'll probably be… like, a lot of cash, right? 'Cause that's like, special order shit, right?"

          My allies all settled for fake versions of their real drivers licenses. Partially undermining my need for safety-names theory. Maybe my instinct top create a fake name for my ID and for all of my cohorts, was just an expression of my paranoia and mental instability increasing. I was extra glad that I had not shared my ideas with the others, even though I could not stop myself from continuing to think of them by the pseudonyms that I had concocted.

          Once back on the sidewalk, Tegan (Gerri) went off to get a bus pass, explaining, "If I do get hired somewhere, then I can't be sure Tom will always be available to drive me, to or from."

          I was deeply appreciative of the lovely woman's consideration. Wade (Ken) and Tallwind (Milton) went with the redhead, although I was fairly certain that the limping wrinkly one just wanted to go wherever the pretty lady was. Hirsute Kyle had also went off with the those three, although on later report had split off on his own.

          Meanwhile, Hank and I back tracked to the rental-house, so that I could drive us both to Ariadne's Sheaves & Leaves. I was satisfying a craving which I had been feeling since having heard about the shop. My oddly earthen compatriot, on the other hand, was merely more intent on none of our collective being alone in the world.

 

Ariadne's was a converted two story Victorian home. It backs onto the river and neighbors a field on one side and an old tool and dye factory on the other. The gravel parking lot had room for maybe a dozen vehicles (at the time, only an old white Ford Pick-up and an even older and beat-up Cadillac were parked there). Set back and to the right was a closed stand-alone two-car garage. The shrubbery, around the base of the main building, seemed to need a trim, otherwise was the most vibrant of any similar foliage that I had seen since summer—however many summers ago that was. There was no readily visible signage, until Hank and I stepped onto the covered porch.

          On first impression, the bookstore-tea-house combo was far more normal than my two associates had described. Then little quirks started to stand out. I probably would have missed several peculiarities, had Wade (Ken) or Tegan (Gerri) not mentioned them. However, the one that I spied on my own was the most unsettling. I had been thinking that the building might be a historical landmark, when I glanced up and flinched.

          “You oaky, Tom?” Hank placed a heavy steadying hand on my shoulder.

          “Uh, yeah, I guess.” I pointed to the porch’s rafters.

The beams overhead were solid pale-grey with spider-webs. Even though there was no visible movement within the thick webbing, I considered adopting arachnophobia. Even so, Hank and I shrugged it off and proceeded.

A small brass plaque was bolted next to the door-frame. What I was expecting to be confirmation of my heritage-house theory, turned out to be the stores sign, etched with a simple and elegant line-drawing (s cup of tea on an open book) over the words Sheaves & Leaves. The cut-glass window of the door also had a sign affixed, “OPEN” on what looked like a smallish antique pasteboard.

          Thanks to Wade (Ken), I paused to inspect the door’s inner frame once opened. There was the purported contiguous brass-band running the circumference of the frame. Dozen of words, in as many languages, were etched into the band. Like my allies before me, the closest version to English that I saw, was “Terra Nullis” at center threshold.

          I assumed that the words were Latin, as Wade (Ken) had suggested. I had not studied Latin, yet understood a little, and I agreed that "Terra" was definitely in the "earth" or "land" family, while "Nul-" probably meant "Nothing" or "No". The "-lis" suffix might modify "Nul" to "No Man's", I knew that Latin used those kind of modifiers to expand the meaning of a root-word. So, the message could refer to the dangerous area between two or more warring territories, or that this was a place where warring was suspended, or that men (presumably meaning normal humans) were not permitted. Only the first option made me uneasy. As far as the last was concerned I was planning to lean on Mr. Shui’s explanation and claim non-human status.

          Inside, the historical theme carried through, although without a consistent period. Lots of solid wood, occasional leather upholstery, woven rugs, some brass, and no plastics. Adding to the aesthetic, electrical features were very limited, very few light fixtures—which all looked like retro-fitted gas-lamps and the pastry display case in the tea room had a couple of florescent tubes. I could only assume that the kitchen area also had working appliances. The bookcases, full of mostly used books, were everywhere, floor to ceiling, along every wall (including hallways), even blocking a window or two. Nestled here and there were chairs or stools, in addition to the tea-room’s handful of tiny tables and eclectically matched chairs. There seems to be a room or two sectioned off, only accessible via a doorway through the tea-room, cordoned off with a red velvet rope.

          The cashier/receptionist sat at a large desk, suited to a Humphrey Bogart's character. A manual cash-register, from an even earlier era, sat proudly atop the hardwood surface. After a little browsing, Hank and I approached the lady behind the desk.

          The youthful lady like the décor was model-pretty for another era, her nose was a bit too sharp and mouth too expressive for the models that I remembered from TB and magazines. Blonde hair was curly and cut short, to bob around her tapered-ears, cheeks, and dark eyebrows. Big wire-framed glasses allowed easy access to big ocean-green eyes. The clerk’s outfit was ultra conservative and she used hardly any make up, a brass name-pin—shaped like a stylized spider-web—identified “Philomena”.

          "May I help you?" Philomena asked in a slightly nasal voice.

          "Uh, yes, well we hope so." I allowed my uncertainty and confusion show, while trying to avoid appearing incompetent.

          Hank was doing his standard hulking observer, yet jovial dad-like routine.

          "Some, uh, friends of ours were here yesterday." I plowed on. "And they mentioned something about the, um, rare books section?"

          "Yesth," Philomena’s slight lisp, combined with her slight nasally-ness, created a charming innocent quality in her voice. "We have an exthtensthive rare collection." She stared at me expectantly.

          My mind flashed images of Mrs. Shui (glowering through her chunky lenses) and Ms. Alstroemeria (bug eyed exasperation). Both were unfair comparisons, to Philomena’s polite friendliness. Even so, my memory of the other ladies dried my mouth.

          "I mean…." I tried to swallow and go on. "Uh, that is, uh, we heard…" I looked to Hank for some backup.

          The wall-like weightlifter smiled encouragingly at me, as if he thought it was going well.

          "We heard," I tried again, "um, that there were fees or something. And, uh, we wanted to find out more?"

          Comprehension dawned on the ladies aquiline face. "Oh, yesth of coursth." She pulled a form from out of one of the desk's drawers.

          Hank and I scrutinized it. The various fee structures took up almost as much space as the rules of conduct; daily, weekly, monthly, yearly, per nine days, fortnightly, lunarly, per solar eclipse, per lunar eclipse, and so on. The rules were pretty straight forward for a rare books collection, amounting to: no food, drink, ink, ink pens, markers, or charcoal, in the stacks. No fighting anywhere on the premises. Do not damage, alter, or deface any part of the collection. Pencils or chalk and note pads or slates are allowed. The one odd rule was “One part of anything conceived on the premises, by heart or hand, belongs to the establishment”.

"Uh, conceived?" Hank asked about the wording of the clause.

          Philomena smiled mischievously, "There have been enough insthtancethsth, that required the rule be formalized."

          "Ah," Hank blushed a little, his dark orange cheeks becoming more brown and the yellowish band of his neck turning ochre, "Uh, but what does it mean 'heart or hand'?"

          "Well," Philomena's impish smile gained a knowing quality. Like when a parent gets a lewd reference, but doesn't want to explain it to their kid. "Ariadne wanted to make cthertain to cover any possthibilities." She winked at me with her left eye, such that Hank on her right, did not see.

          "It, um, mentions fighting," I joined the conversation, "Does that come up a lot?"

          The clerk’s expression became very serious. "No, there isth no fighting. It isth very important that you do not fight, here." Her translucent-green eyes fixed onto Hank.

          I blinked at the implication that we were looking for a brawl. “Sure, no, uh, physical violence is a given.” I tried to clarify. "But, um, what about, like arguments? Like, if two members are discussing philosophy or something and, uh, they disagree. Can they, um, verbally hash it out? Or, uh, do members not talk to each other?"

          "it isth alright to sthpeak to othersth." The perky clerk smiled warmly. "Justht keep your voiceth down and be cthivil."

          "What does 'the premises' entail?" Hank asked.

          Philomena looked confused. "Well… here."

          "I think he means," bolstered by her smile, I tried to help, "if someone were to…" I decided to ignore the conceive clause, "Were to get in an argument and the other fellow said 'Let's take this outside'—like he wanted to fight." Philomena blanched a little. I barreled on. "What qualifies as outside the premises? Just of the porch? Is my car on the premises in the lot?"

          "Umm…" Philomena hesitated, perhaps making a mental calculation. "Everything, within one hundred yardsth of the building, isth protected by Ariadne'sth rule. But, do not fight here at all." Anther pointed look to Hank.

          Hank and I each bought a one-month guest-membership, at ten dollars a piece. Philomena could only accept metal currency, though, so it was fortuitous that I had been foresighted enough to have retained a couple of my rolls of Sacagaweas. I made change for Hank’s paper money. My paranoia seemed to be at a low ebb, because I barely considered the need to replace the makeshift fist-weight.

          I signed my real name to a copy of the form and got hit with another all-over _thrum-twang_ sensation settling in my chest. I dropped the pen inelegantly, caught off guard on two levels. Firstly, the sensation was deeper and more resonant than the others. Secondly, I had not touched Philomena and I had been assuming that physical contact was important. Again, I had forgotten my group around the table, at IHOP. Regardless, the new sensation joined the others hovering at the edge of my perception. So, I mentally updated the relevant puzzle pieces and moved on.

          The lady behind the counter of the tea-room wore a chefs hat and seemed to have a blue and white face tattoo, she benignly watched hank and I strode over to the velvet-roped doorway. I idly wondered if the woman would have leapt over the counter to stop us, if we had not just come from Philomena’s desk. The red-velvet rope had another brass plaque hung from it on two short chains, confirming “Rarities, Members Only.” Hank lifted the rope, by its hooked end, and we entered the rear of the building.

          Hank and split-up, in short order. While we both wanted to get the lay of the “No Man’s Land”, he was intent on assessing rooms and exit points, while I was inspecting titles, barely able to restrain myself from grabbing books after book and just reading. So, Hank quickly grew tired of waiting for me.

          Ariadne's rare books collection had easily a libraries worth of tomes, the stacks and shelving were even more packed than the bookstore’s public front. The volume of the written material washed over me in a way that the public library had not. My palms itched as I felt the years and years in which I had read nothing. I recalled more vividly than when it happened that I had switched from Architecture to a Literature Major, the Lit classes were the only thing holding my attention and I had sucked at the drawing needed for architecture. Even if my future was less financial stable, my grades had improved rapidly and I got to spend even more time reading stories.

          It took a moment to realize that the rare volumes were arranged in sections similar to a thesaurus. I found fire, Earth, Water, Air, Wood, Flora, Fauna, Law, Chaos, Light, Dark, and so on. I was vaguely aware that the shape and number of rooms seemed greater than the converted house’s exterior allowed. My mind was more occupied with sticking to my researching goals, in the face of so many distractingly fascinating books.

          Even though I had clearly proven more level headed and focused than my housemates, I had still already lost track of scoping the overall collection. Instead, I made to address my free-floating puzzle pieces. So, I attempted concentrate on books dealing with shadow-eaters, with a secondary eye out for non-culinary uses for salt.

          I started inauspiciously in the “Dark” section, under the associative assumption that the “shadow” in shadow-eater sounded dark to me. The Dark section was a dimly lit, creepy, closet. The sound of slithering made my flesh crawl, so I left for more fruitful sections.

          From there I chose to tryst to luck to guide me to likely, or at least interesting, sections and books. I tracked here I selected each book, in my pocket notepad, so the useful ones could lead me back to similar titles. After gathering an armload of volumes, I settled at a side table, with a chair, which was before a window that overlooked a manicured lawn-garden. Though, I had little attention for the scenery.

          There were no dictionaries or encyclopedia to be found. Since this was a semi-private collection, not a library, there were nit even very many mass printed books. So, the books I found myself perusing were largely handwritten journals, or travel logs, with tidbits of relevant data buried within long passages regarding scenery, trade methods, travel conditions, personal musings on life, armature poetics, and so forth. The more standard works that I did encounter tended to be fairytales, told from unfamiliar perspectives, or containing wholes crossed out passages with corrections in the margins. Therefore, it is not surprising that I lost track of the passing hours, as I luxuriated in discovery and sidetracks alike.

          I learned that shadow-eaters are also called spirit-eaters, doppelgangers, fylgja, dharmakāya, etiäinen, ikiryō, vardøger, stock, fetch, and changelings, depending on region. Although, changeling seemed to be more often synonymous with spirit-touched, while fetch cropped up most often in English. The gist effectively corroborated Mr. Shui’s information, although I found more westernized nomenclature. Fetch were either a feeble child of, or a sort of construct created by, the Folk (AKA Bright Ones, or Sidhe). Fetch were commonly used to replace a stolen child, so no-one would seek the Bright One kidnapper. Being inhuman, the shadow-eaters tend be unable to interact properly with normal people, leading amoral lives, causing distress in their social circles. Beyond the tales of fetch feeding off of the shadows/spirits of those around them, they seemed to have no supernatural abilities. So, I grew more frustrated as I realized that no mystical expulsion solution would present itself, like get them to speak their name backwards, or tie their toes in rice-paper.

          Though, I could still not quite believe the magical faery elements, I could easily see how my situation could fit into most of the stories that I read. Especially the unseen Dr. Anwynn as one of the Folk having replaced me and my associates with fetch-creatures.

          On the other hand, many of the sources which I was reading were dubious. Firstly, they were hand written accounts, many without identifiable authorship and often (supposedly) from the 19th century or earlier—when science was not much better than the superstitions it was trying to debunk. Heck, practically every book I skimmed in that collection, made matter-of-fact reference to the four humors. Then some sources were in direct conflict with each other, one called the constructed thing left for the parents a changeling, while another claimed it was the child taken and manipulated by the Folk that was the changeling. I found a first edition collection of Hans Christian Anderson's Little Mermaid, which hand scrawled notes in ballpoint ink, claiming that the titular character was a Nyad not a mermaid (amongst other revisions)—could I tryst either author.

Which in turned touched on the greater naming confusion. I eventually that changeling and spirit-touched were synonymous. I even favored the latter, for its more positive connotations. However, many other terms came up with seemingly inconsistent interchangeability: ogre, gnome, elf, beastling, sprite, gnarling, and many more. For example, one tale followed two characters consistently identify one as pixie and the other as sprite, though there was no clear distinction between the two, and both were also darklings. Then the duo met another pair each called beastling, yet one was also a darkling, while the other a gnarling. So, if this spirit-world explanation was to be the answer to what had happened to me, it still had many gaps in the puzzle.

As a side note, my efforts also revealed many alternate names for the Edge Maze, such as the Inbetween, the Thorny Way, the Never-Never, Neverwhere, the Night Side, the Wilder Woods, amongst other titles, although the Briar seemed to be the most common. Always described as a place outside of the normal (often called mortal) world. However, it was not clear if some of those names actually referred to specific location in or beyond the Briar, for I did find occasional mentions of the Beyond Lands which were always distinct from the Briar. The implication being that the Maze was an extra-dimensional wilderness which bridged between the real world and the lands of the Folk. I had just found a passage referencing a seemingly third realm called the Dreamlands, when Hank’s hard-edged finger tapped my shoulder.

          "Hey, Tommy," the fireman spoke with some hesitation, "can you come outside and meet this… um, guy, I was talking to?" He nodded to the window in front of which I had been sitting.

          At first, I started to wonder of the large orange-red fellow had called me “Tommy” as a simple familiarity, or had he recalled my Twilight Tommy pseudonym independent of my mentioning it. Then, I took a proper look out of the window and other thoughts fell away. My brief earlier glances outside had registered as a classical Victorian style lounging garden, with manicured lawn, artfully placed trees and shrubberies, and occasional stone benches or tables. There had also been many people, scattered throughout, some in small groups, others alone. I had even thought I saw a family of squirrels in one of the trees, however my attention was for the books.

          At Hank’s prompting, I took the time to really see what I was looking at, through the panes. The squirrels were actually lemurs, many of whom wore bits of colorful clothing (a vest, blousy pants, and the like). Every so often, one of the capering simians would swim through the air—ground to tree, or one tree to another. The person that I had originally mistaken for a rider on horseback, in the distance where the lawn met the woods, was instead a full fledged centaur. The lady with grass-green hair (not a scarf head-covering, as I had at first imagined) was eating the leaves from a bush, as a dear or goat might. There was a satyr, or faun, in a waistcoat and vest, lounging near a chessboard. Somehow all of the reading I had just down could not help me accept the surreal vision before me, I kept thinking that the window must be an elaborate video screen, showing me an exceptional computer generated animation.

          Part of me realized that Hank’s must be experiencing a similar feeling, hence his hesitation. The rough-hewn man was not saying what he saw, trying to get me to corroborate his perception, without influencing mine. Or, Hank just did not want to sound crazy, if I was not seeing the same fantastic-oddities.

          "I've been out here pretty much the whole time." Hank said as he led me out through a set of French doors. "Um, mostly just watching and trying to make sense of stuff, ya know?"

I nodded, still too slack-jawed to form words.

Outside, the air was easily ten or fifteen degrees warmer, than when we had entered Sheave & Leaves. The distinct smells of burning leaves, cold rains, dry hay, and ripe pumpkins layered the air. Then my mind had to accept that the scene had not shifted from inside; still a centaur moving in the distance, still a tree line too close, the forest too dense and tall… Then, there was the manicured lawn, larger than the Victorian house I had entered… Even more so…

“It’s a different building.” I found a whisper of my vice, as I spun slowly to take in the shape of a thing that my mind had been steadfastly blocking.

The mown lawn not only extended about a hundred yards, out to the inexplicable tree-line, it was also boxes on three sides by the building that Hank and I had just exited. That building now looking like a four story Victorian mansion.

          “Okay, good, you see it too.” Hank wiped his forehead. “I actually meant to walk around the parameter, to see how it matched up to the front. Like is there a optical illusion set up, or something. But I got side tracked and wound up talking to the professor.”

          My gut flipped with dread, as the tales of the ever-shifting Briar flooded me, from the books which I had only just left. The Thorny Between was were all those folktales came from, of people lost in a strange wood, only to return a hundred years later or not at all. Even retracing steps would not help the hapless wanderers. Part of me also acknowledge the whole new interpretation of the term “folktale” in relation to the Folk.

          So, even as Hank continued speaking, I stepped back through the French-doors and exited again, a couple of times. I could not be sure that I would be able to return to Athens Ohio—for I felt certain I had left it—however, I had some reassurance that I could, at least, re-access the wonderful collection literature.

          I had admittedly lost track of whatever Hank was saying, though I did follow as the large earthenware looking chap led us directly to the dapperly half-dressed faun. When Hank cleared his throat, the face of a middle-aged man looked up from a small leather-bound book. Goat-like hourglass-eyes peered at my companion and me, over half-moon pince-nez and from under a balding pate which sported two thumb-sized horns.

          "Doc this is the friend I mentioned." Hank introduced us. "Tom, this is Dr. Peter Dionysus."

          I swallowed and held out my hand. Could this be an ancient Greek god? I did not see anything to support that in my readings, yet did that matter? "Uh, hi."

          Dionysus shook it gently by the fingers, "My pleasure." His voice was rich and warn and held only the hint of a treble around the vowels. "I am no relation of the more famous classical figure." He seemed to read my thoughts. "At least, as far as I know." The accompanying smiled explained that it was a jest that he enjoyed telling often.

          It was at that moment when I stopped resisting. The puzzle pieces had been straining to fit together and my own stubbornness had been pushing them out of alignment. As soon as I stopped looking for other explanations, most of the picture, that I had been mentally juggling, fell into place. I was in a fairytale, there was no way around it.

Besides, I was talking to a real live satyr, while lemurs gently drifted in my peripheral vision and that was damn cool. Honestly, if I was trapped in a comma or some drug induced hallucinatory state, then so what; I liked it better than the mundane world which I had once believed to be true. However, I was certain that no imaginary world would bother with the cautions and dangers, which my reading and experiences thus far had exhibited. Adding to the hound-pack, from that first morning, my recent research had strongly indicated that the brutal and grim original fairy-stories were closer and tamer to the true spirit-touched world, than their happy-ending modern-day bastardizations. So, even in light of the wonders I was accepting, I remained vigilant and guarded.

          While having my revelation, I also deduced that Peter Dionysus was not really a mind reader. Rather the squat fellow must just hear variants of "The God?" often enough to head it off at the beginning of new acquaintances.

          Unfortunately, r perhaps just impolitely, my minds remained split between the conversation before me and all the new meanings and perspectives that I was seeing. So, sweet reader, I hope you will forgive some haziness in the details of the dialog to follow. And it was a dialog, for Hank merely loomed nearby, like a half sculpted brick-red statue.

“So, uh,” I floundered for what to say, “you’re a doctor?”

“Yes, well Professor, in fact,” Peter Dionysus modestly bragged, “of Biology and Crypto-biology. Though, of course, the latter is more of an honorary discipline.”

With very little prompting, I came to understand in some detail that the two fields of study made Prof. Dionysus quite learned in regards to all kinds of living things, mortal and fae alike. I also found that fae was generically applied to any person, animal, plant, or object with faery (AKA spirit-touched) qualities and mortal applied to mundane world counterparts. Although, it was unclear if that meant that spirit-touched were immortal.

Eventually, I cobbled together enough presence of mind to ask the Professor what he knew of fetch, hoping that he may know information that my limited study had missed. The goateed fellow nodded solemnly, "I know a fair amount. However, I value my tutoring services."

          "How much would you consider fair?" I chewed my lower lip, trying to remember how much money was in my Credit Union account.

          Dionysus considered, sizing me up over the tops of his half spectacles. "How much do you wish to know? Or rather, how long are you interested in discussing this?"

          "Well, I want to know whatever you can tell me…" I groped for a number, knowing enough about bartering to ask for more than I thought that I needed, in expectation of being talked down. "Say, four hours?"

          Disturbingly shaped yellow-eyes widened, "I don't think there is that much to know about fetch. Perhaps two hours?"

          "Three?" I assumed that as the seller Dionysus was shorting the time in order to get a second session. "Just in case what you tell me causes me to have more questions."

          "Alright,” the professorial doctor nodded, “three hours…" he thought, "I could give you that, for a pint of blood."

          I felt that blood drain from my face. "Um, thanks anyway. I’m doing my best to keep my blood." Thoughts of Dr. Anwynn’s employees and the Kendal room full of refrigerated blood swam in my head. Plus, now that magic and fae were real, I had no idea how my blood could be used against me.

          "I did not say," Dionysus responded to the look on my face, "that it need be _your_ blood." He sighed, apparently bored with the idea of money, “I suppose, I could give you three-hours, for one-hundred dollars, if you would prefer."

          I exhaled my relief "Do you accept paper dollars?"

          "I would prefer coin."

          I almost let myself rise to the challenge of trying to talk the half-man into taking the cash, however I did not really want to start my tutoring session right then. In addition to Hank having started to make “are we done here, yet?” noises, I did want to start my job hunting. Plus, it probably would make a better impression to get the coins. So, after verifying that Prof. Dionysus would be in that garden for the next few afternoons, I shook his firm grip, then Hank and I left the way we had come.

          I had even been ready for the _twang-hum_ sensation which settled into me as I grabbed the satyr’s hand. I finally had some idea what was happening with the weird sensations. Promises and bargains featured strongly in many fairytales and magical creatures usually had to keep their word. Which seemed to match up with when I had been experiencing the sensations. So, the new puzzle piece became how obligated was I and more importantly what were the consequences for backing out of a deal. On the way back through the rare books, I wondered if I could dupe one of my allies into reneging on a deal, so that I could safely observe the results.

          The relief that I felt, stepping back into the tea-room, was tempered with a few threads of regret. If I had been trapped, then I would have had every excuse to simply read and read and read. As it was, I was back in the mortal world and still needed an income stream.

         On our way out, my jolly orange-giant cohort and I almost literally bumped into Tegan (Gerri), as the voluptuous woman entered Sheave & Leaves. In light of my new world view, I was much more confident about “Tegan” being an appropriate name for the former ROTC student. However, I remained reticent to effectively out my allies’ secret identities.

          "Here to join the rare books club?" Hank grinned widely at the much smaller lady.

          "Well," Tegan's crystalline-green eyes assessed me and Hank, "I was just going to kill some time here, really. If you're heading home, I wouldn't mind a lift."

          On our way to my Festiva, the redhead asked, "So, you two bought memberships?"

          "Yeah," Hank stretched his pylon-colored arms over his rock-ish head, "but if you're interested, they only take coins. I'm lucky Tommy here still had some left." Then he pouted as he realized that his posturing had prevented him from claiming the front passenger seat.

          "Really?" Glittering green eyes looked to me.

          "Yep,” I nodded, as I got buckled in. “and totally worth it. Things get pretty amazing on the other side of that velvet rope." I started driving. “We’ll tell you about it, over dinner with the others.” I was expecting lots of resistance to the news and did not want to have to repeat the process a half dozen times.

          "So," Tegan sat at military attention, even in my little Festiva, "do you still have dollar-coins? Can I buy them from you?"

          "Well, um," I considered my obligation to pay Dr. Dionysus, "I could do that. Or, uh, I was going to swing by Athens Credit Union, anyway, uh, they’ll probably just sell you both some." I glanced at Hank, as well, while making a right-turn. "From what we learned, you're probably going to need more than just the membership dues in the long run, anyway.”

          So, the three of us stopped at my credit union. Luckily they still had most of what I had deposited on my first visit. Even more fortuitously, I was not embarrassed by any of the tellers recognizing that I was pulling out over a hundred bucks of the same coins that I was trying to get rid of, just the other day. With my pockets weighed down, I empathized with Ms. Alstroemeria; “we the people” really should mint larger metal denominations.

          On the way to our rental-home, traffic slowed for a two car wreck at the side of the road. Something about the two drives metaphorically slammed into me, as I rolled by. The young lady (probably a freshman at the university) looked confused, terrified, and weepy, as the guy (easily in his thirties) shouted into her face. there was no way to tell which of them had rear-ended the other. Regardless of the details, as I drove along side the pair, I blissed out. It was like the best steak and best beer I had ever tasted, combined with an orgasm and a cardio-adrenalin shot. It was something about the cars, the upset girl, or the enraged guy, I just could not tell what. I dud, however, almost swerve into oncoming traffic.

          Thankfully, Tegan’s hand whipped out and firmly corrected the car’s trajectory, while barking, "What the hell, Tom?!"

          "I, uh…" I blinked, trying to get a grip settle the fireworks in my head, "I think, um, maybe we should see if we can help them." I glanced to the wreck.

          Something in my expression made Tegan even more concerned. "I don't think that's a good idea, right now." She spoke more clearly and calmly than normal, her satin tones helped, "Maybe, you should pull over and let me, or Hank drive the rest of the way."

          Hank had shifted in the back seat to me more able to grab me, if needed.

The thought of letting someone else drive my car was briskly sobering. Plus, the wreck had passed behind our slow progress. "No, that's not necessary." I looked longingly for a moment into the rearview mirror, as I re-took the wheel. "I'm okay, now. We’ll just keep going."

Even though the worst had faded, I still felt more energized than I had since… ever and it did not seem to be fading. I added the piece to my puzzling, for after I was not operating heavy machinery.

         

Our septet’s burgeoning tradition (perhaps ritual) continued to grow, as we all congregated, once more at our rented ranch-style, for dinner and to share news of the day. I eagerly relayed what was discovered at Sheaves & Leaves, at least, I started eager. Even with Hank’s supportive affirmations of my statements, the group responded to the fruits of my hard work with a spectrum of skeptical to disinterest. So, as other people spoke, I only half listened, in part because I was trying to fathom their lackluster attitudes to the fantastic, also in part as repayment for their rude half-interests in me.

 

Tegan, Wade (as with Tegan, I saw no real need to continue with the Ken addendum), and Kyle had all gotten jobs. All three had settled well below their station, the college fencing-instructor became a Jiffy Lube oil-changer, the alluring ROTC student got a stock-person position at Five Spring Farm Landscaping, and the computer engineer was a taxi driver. I thought it was sad that none of had been able to more creatively play to their personal strengths. However, I kept my trap shut, since the trio were actually drawing incomes.

          Although, I was impressed with Kyle's cleverly getting a job and transport all in one. As the cute whisker-faced lad explained, “Rrurr I just had rmph that Gary rrr guy check irrgh the chauffeururrr box, on my fake rrer ID.”

          “So,” Tegan confirmed, “that’s why you didn’t come with the rest of us for bus passes.”

          Kyle grinned and nodded.

Hank, on the other hand pouted, “You went off alone?” He looked around the room. “And you guys let him?” Bouldery fists perched on blocky hips. “What if something had happened? I thought we had agreed to always pair up.”

          Kyle shrugged his broad shoulders, “Rrr I gotta urr be me. Urph besides, nothing rrr went wrwrong.”

          While Hank continued with his chiding, hirsute Kyle’s comment had given me a flash of his partial safety-name, Runner. Something Runner, or Runner something… no definitively something Runner. Even though I had become certain of the pseudonyms validities, I remained frustrated that I did not remember them completely, making me question my accuracy, in the first place.

          I also dealt with my mild jealousy towards Wade for getting to work with cars all day. I absolutely could have change oil for under-the-table pay. However, I remained convinced that getting a bartending would prove way more lucrative.

          I did feel like making a snide comment about Tallwind not also having a job. Since the burn-scarred sourpuss had been so sonically dismissive of how easy employment would be to achieve, I felt he deserved a similar barb. Unfortunately, the conversation did not provide a suitable opening, before my mind wondered—effectively out with Rai. I was almost as embittered at the large panther-man for having usurped the whole of our shared garage. On the other hand, I was impressed that Rai had spent his day purchasing and transporting a junked 2004 Suzuki VZ1600 Marauder motorcycle, which he had then proceeded to repair. Plus, the oversized engineer’s obsession had him departing our conversation after only one helping of dinner, so the benefit to our food budget was somewhat placating.

          “he okay?” Hank nodded towards the garage, after Rai’s stoic departure. “After this morning?”

          Noncommittal shrugs all around.

          “I’d be surprised,” I ventured, projecting a bit of myself on the cat-eyed lad, “if he even remembered whatever it was.” Then my own jumbling thoughts kicked me over to another topic.

          “Oh yeah,” I snapped my fingers and turned to Hank, “I, uh, I’ve been meaning to mention, I’m going to try for a job at this bar that I found on the internet. It’s called Elements and looks like it’s trying to a trendy hot-spot. I thought you might want to come along and see if there are any bouncer jobs open."

          Hank agreed readily. Tegan and Wade invited themselves along, as well, although in order to recreate, rather than job-hunt. Runner insisted that he had to get back to driving his hack. So, Tallwind availed himself of the opportunity to be alone for a while. Apparently, Rai being in the garage was close enough to satisfy Hank’s buddy-system sensibilities. Not that we did not encourage Rai to join us, before we left, the quiet man just half shook his head and kept working.

        

Before heading to the club, our went about personal business for a while. As I was making final touches to my I’m-super-hirable look, Wade call through the side-door, for everyone to “Come check-out what Gerri’s doing!”

As we all gathered in the backyard, Wade pointed a scarred finger to Tegan, "She’s growing plants! I mean, wherever she walks starts sprouting… seriously, look!"

          It was true. We all asked variations on the same questions. "How are you doing that?" "Does it hurt?" "How long will it last?" "What else can you do?" And as soon as I realized we were pulling that same rapid fire each person ask their own question regardless of the previous answers, I stopped and just assessed for a while.

          Scrubs t-shirt tucked into tight jeans, Tegan stood, occasionally bending over or crouching to inspect the ground, while answering as best she could. "I don't know." was the most common response, although the flexibly lithe lass did say, "I have to concentrate. Like I really have to be seriously thinking about it.” She also confirmed, “It doesn’t hurt, but… it’s like effort. Like trying to remember the right moves during an real important Muay Thai exhibition.”

Tegan then demonstrated, wherever she stared for a few seconds the dormant grass and dandelions sprang up, verdant as if a time lapse video were documenting the heart of spring. Unlike my vaguely apprehensive comrades, I stepped over for a closer inspection.

"Tom, you're glowing!" Wade practically yelped and pointed his hash-marked digit at me, when I had moved a half dozen paces away.

          Everyone shifted their attention from the alabaster-skinned lass, to me. Even Tegan looked me over, then at her own arms, then moved to stand with the others, and repeat the look at me then herself. Meanwhile, the question Uzis were retrained onto me. "How…?" "Does it hurt?" "How long…?" "What does it mean?" and so on. My only reply was to stand slack-jawed, while staring wide-eyed at my limbs and surroundings.

          I really was glowing, or more accurately I was at the center of a patch of moonlight which moved with me. The thick clouds blocked any natural illumination and the neighbor’s homes were all as unlit as our own, so no other source could be blamed. Once Tegan had stepped five or six paces away, not so dark suburban darkness enrobed her as much as my other housemates. Covering and uncovering part of my skin had ne effect, yet thinking about seeing the light more or less clearly caused the radiance to dim or brighten. So, it was as if a moonbeam had decided to play hooky from normal duties and pal around with me instead.

Along with my immediate observations my mind reeled with memories of the strange light back at the Kendal building and reading by moonlight the night before. I grinned pridefully with the thought that not only did I too have a special aura, mine was by far the best. All in all, I was stunned. Apparently, just because I had accepted being part of a magical faery filled world, did not me I had acclimated to the wonders of it, especially as they directly pertained to myself.

Meanwhile, my only reply to that I offered to my barrage-questioners was slack-jawed silence. Which suited their short attentions fine, as Hank rubbed the back of his yellow neck with a blocky hand, and said, "You know, this kind of reminds me of something that happened the other day. On our first day, after the hospital?" Hank looked for some understanding from his audience. "Anyway, I wasn't sure how far the thousand-fifty would stretch and I needed to clear my head, right? Right," he nodded his no longer quite chiseled features, "so I tend to think better when I'm doing something physical, like lifting weights or building something." He took a deep steadying breath. "Anyway, long story short, I found one of those penny-saver type fliers at the Kroger and answered one of the ads."

          More neck rubbing, producing a grinding gravel sound. "It was an old lady, one of those extremely clean, with white on white furnishings, types." Marble-eyes confirmed that his listeners understood. "Well, I knew I had to be extra careful moving her furniture. She had me take it to her backyard and put it on old newspapers to paint it. So anyway, I was pretty worried about tracking dirt the whole time." A pause to squint and make sure he was remembering correctly. "Then, when I went back to make sure that I swept up, there was nothing. Not even impressions in the carpet where I know I had stood… I did smell a little wood-smoke, though. But, didn't think anything of it, at the time." Square shoulders shrugged. “You know, like lots of weird stuff had been happening and I figured I was just imagining it.”

          "Don't you always smell smoke?" Tallwind said sarcastically.

          Hank blinked a few times. "No. I mean it was pretty common when I was working at the firehouse…"

          Clearly both men had forgotten that we had already established that those of them with aromatic or auditory auras did not perceive their own.

          "I think," Tegan, reminded them, "that Milton is referring to the smoky odor that you give off. Like my perfume fragrance, or Ken's wet leaves."

          "Huh." The bouldery fellow, sniffed his hands and armpit, then held his palms up and shrugged, exactly as he had the last time the subject had come up. "Nope. I get what you're saying about you two, but I just smell like me… I did shower just an hour ago, though."

          Wade was quickly exasperated with the topic of body odors and wanted Hank to provide a demonstration. I too had become exasperated, mostly with this new set of oddities distracting me from my goal of employment, it was only a little teensy bit because everyone had so quickly stopped paying attention to me. So, I re-entered the house, to finish getting ready (not to pout), just as Hank was saying, “How am I supposed to do something, that I didn’t know I was doing in the first place?”

          I really did suppress my curiosity in favor of focusing on my get-a-job strategy. However, I jotted down all of the new puzzling information, for later contemplation.

As for Hank, I was told on the drive over to Elements, that he had eventually worked out the trick and could indeed erase evidence of his passing, in a puff of smoke. Moreover, Wade was delighted to discover that he could do the same, except that instead of smoke a small pile of fine metallic powder remained. The one new twist that each man experienced was a drained feeling. When pressed for more clarity, the best they could come up with was Hank’s, "Well, it's like I'm hungry, but not for food."

          Over the following days, all of us sharing the house would attempt to activate any new ability one of the others had discovered. Only Tegan and Rai would eventually discover another mutual ability. Plus, that part of the puzzle accrued new pieces as some abilities seemed more “draining”, if at all.

         

However, for the time being Elements awaited and if Tegan had not been in our group, the rest of us might still be standing at the rope, hoping to get in. It turns doormen will not be bribed with money, but the club always has room for a hottie and her entourage. Or, it is possible that our petite auburn-haired beauty simply had the knack for wrapping men around her little finger, without even noticing.

          Inside, Elements was up-scale college-trendy with a retro-hipster leaning. Darkly lit with neon under-lighting outlining the edges of things (the bar, tables, etc.) The furnishings were largely plastic made to seem like chrome, glass, and black lacquer. There were TVs in each corner, of course, and set to one ESPN or another, even though they could not be heard over the blaring—heavily auto-tuned—dance music.

          I cut loose from my three companions, as soon as I could. I figured that asking for a job would be taken more seriously, if I seemed to be there solely for that purpose. My plan also called for me to buy an O’Doul’s or two and study the bartenders and the types of orders they took. I was surprised at the number of mixed drinks that actually got made, I had expected a college town club with ESPN play to be more heavily beer oriented. Even so, the job looked fairly straight forward.

So, once I figured out who the manager was, I approached him at an opportune moment and asked for a job. His name was Dave and he hesitated, however with a little persistence on my part he said that I could come in that Sunday and try out. I wondered if my ice-cream dream about luck might be at some way effecting the situation, as I had never been particularly charming in the past. Plus, I would now also have time to research the mixology of drinks which I had just been observing ordered.

          I would have missed the _twing-hmm_ accompanying our handshake, had I not been looking for it. The tingling sensation felt less firmly constrictive than any of the others, which I would eventually chalk up to the non-definitive aspect of my getting the job. My thoughts of luck and the sensation of a deal made clicked together and prompted my to ask, “Um, I ‘m also here with my, uh, pal, um, Hank.” I waved the bulky gent over. “He was interested in any bouncer work you might have.”

          After I made introductions, Dave again skeptically agreed to let Hank also try out on Sunday. It may have just been my depleting adrenalin, however I did feel a bit sapped after the exchange. I made sure to jot details of all the new puzzle pieces in my pocket notepad, for long term tracking.

          As I quickly perused my notes, I let myself muse on our household group as a whole. On the one hand, paranoia had inspired many to purchase weapons prior to shelter. Also, in spite of many of them has professional skill-sets, no real drive to do better than lower than minimum wage grunt work. Yet, in spite of the generalized paranoia the troupe seemed to have no trouble speaking openly about the fantastic things which normal people should absolutely consider unsettling or crazy. On the other hand, the seven of us seemed to be accruing necessities (shelter, jobs, and so forth) with remarkable ease. I nodded with confidence that I would discover that magic was somehow benefitting us, although was concerned that some cost would come due, as that tended to be the way of things in fairytales.

          Hank broke into my speculations, with a course and heavy hand on my shoulder. "Hey, Tom, we need to get Gerri and go find Ken."

          "What?" I responded, suave as usual as I had to mentally translated the two names into to their safety counterparts. "Why? Where is he? What happened to you?" Hank's face had changed, which meant that I must have been paying more attention to in my head than without, for some time.

          Hank’s reddish-orange dry-clay skin had turned to living concrete—matte, hard, and rough. In either state, the muscleman seemed unhindered, though. The new looked made Hank’s brick-like orangey appearance seem soft and yielding.

          Gavin something-stony! Hank's safety-name, it was Gavin… something rock or earth related. I did not have time to revel in or inspect the new insight.

          "Well," Gavin answered my questions, "there was an incident." His tone suggested urgency and that more details could be given later. "Some ass was trying to drag a girl into the toilet. He had clearly drugged her. Ken and I intervened. The girl ran out the back and Ken followed. I slowed the guy down." Gavin’s craggy face grimaced.

          "The ass took a swing at me. It pissed me off. Before I knew it I was like this." Gavin held up a hand, displaying the pebbled texture and cinder block coloration, with finger nails like a polished granite version of the rest of him.

          I glanced around to make sure that no-one else was reacting to Gavin’s new look. Thankfully, whatever kept mortal oblivious to our spirit-touched natures, seemed to still be in effect.

          "I wound up breaking the guy's jaw." Gavin pointed a squarish finger to a dude in a leather jacket, apparently passed out on his arms, at a back table. "Plus," he concerned polished marble-eyes looked to the dance floor, "Gerri’s a bit out of control."

          Following the gaze, I saw that Tegan was drunkenly- dancing with three or four guys, all at once. Just as many girls seemed pretty pissed, in a secondary ring, around the dancers. It looked like the boyfriends could not even tell that their dates were trying to regain their attentions. Impressive considering that the girls were in skimpy club attire, while Tegan’s only concession had been to undo the top button of her flannel shirt and let her auburn-waves flow unfettered. Tegan also had that blown-pupil blissed-out expression from the library.

          "Plus, I can't seem to turn this off." Gavin indicated his skin again.

          “Well,” I attempted to prioritize possible problems, “at least, no-one seems to notice your change. So, we can address that when were someplace calmer. Let’s get The… Gerri and take her whichever way W… Hen went.”

As Gavin and I waded through the dancers and got close to the orbit of angry girlfriends, I felt a little dizzy. It was as if I had not realized how hungry I was and adjust walked into a room filled with the scent of fresh popped corn or sizzling bacon. It was like the earlier car-wreck, only less sharp. And this time I could tell immediately that it had something to do with the jealous anger that the girls were exuding. As much as my mental mouth watered for more, the sensation faded away, as soon as Gavin had grabbed Tegan’s arm and ushered her off of the dance floor. Apparently the girls were more intent on regaining their date’s attentions than staying mad.

 

Hank, Tegan, and I found Wade out back, by the alley entrance. The dour fellow looked shaken, yet heartier than he had for the last few days. In fact, Wade looked much like I felt, after the encounter with the ring of angry co-eds. Although, the middle-aged divorcée seemed more jazzed than myself, yet not so far gone as Tegan.

          "What happened to the girl?" Fireman Gavin opened the conversation, apparently deciding that the fencer looked well enough to not ask after his wellbeing.

          Wade continued to lean back against the alley wall, scarred hands on his thighs, as if steadying his knees. After a thought organizing breath, Wade replied, "She's okay. I just got her into a taxi." His dry-rasp was thoughtful. "She was… very drunk or drugged, or both… But, when that guy had scared her, it was like I was drawn to her—like she seemed tasty.” Hesitant dull-metallic grey-eyes watched our reactions. “When I caught up with her,” his scarred-hand gestured to the alley, “she must’ve thought I was another attacker and was terrified. I felt like someone had pumped me full of morphine."

          The rest of us relaxed, upon hearing a tale similar to our own recent experiences. So, with no mocking or accusations of madness forthcoming, Wade also relaxed enough for us to start walking for my Festiva.

          "I tried to calm her down," Wade continued with some regret, "and it worked. The calmer she got, the less of that feeling I had. Considering the location, I figured I had better not try to frighten her again.” He ran an over-worn hand through his short brownish hair “She was too doped up to talk very clearly, but she mumbled out an address when I poured her into the cab.”

          "I had also been attracted to her.” Gavin contributed eager to share in the weirdness.” I mean, not her, but that scarred feeling. I even noticed her, before seeing her, when the rape-y guy started to make his move." He shrugged wide and sharp squared shoulders. "My desire to punch the guy was just stronger than the enticing… well, it wasn’t really a smell of fear.” Gavin then recapped for Wade and Tegan the uncertainty about has altered skin.

          Tegan had been coming down from her high and was down to a manageably giddiness. The military trainee’s Colgate perfect smile filled her apple perfect face, puckering deep delicious-dimples into cherubic cheeks. "Well,” Tegan explained, “it’s kind of embarrassing," emerald-eyes stayed downcast, as she bit her pillowy lower lip, added to the pink blush surrounding her freckles, made Tegan far more coquettish than ashamed, "but that feeling's what happened to me at the library. That teenage boy in the corner had been looking at porn." Her deep calming breath, effected me in exactly the opposite way.

          "It's not like I was aroused by the boy, but something about him was… exciting." Tegan moved on quickly. "Then tonight, I didn't finish more than half of a beer, but I felt intoxicated right away. All the men and women looking at each other… It was great!" She reined in her thoughts again. "But what does it mean? We're emotion vampires now? And what about Tom, he didn't react to any of it right?" Sparkly-green eyes turned to me.

          I forced my thoughts away from rosy lips and verdant eyes and curves which should have warning signs posted, long enough to recount the short version of my anger related experiences. Talking helped me to not think about the vampire comment. Although, I did keep having to rub the itch out of my palms, against my hips, thanks to memories of Solanna and her hand-mouths sucking at the nurse.

          Our discussion became circular at that point, rehashing each persons perspective, hoping for some new detail to emerge. By the time we were back at the rental house, we had all wound down, enough to simply crawl into our respective sleeping-bags and drift off. At least, that is what the others did.

          By the time I had inflated my mattress, my roommates had started snoring, so I did not worry about messing with the lighting for a while. I had essentially determined that the answers to the emotion vampirism question would be found in Ariadne’s rare books, or from a more experienced spirit-touched, such as Prof. Dionysus. So, instead of puzzling over those things, I lulled myself to sleep by experimenting with my faery aura of moonlight. Before slumber claimed me, I verified that my illumination functioned indoors, no real depletion was felt, and I could dim it to about one candle’s worth or brighten it to the point were practically no shadows were visible in the room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:


	6. Chapter 6

_brights and darks,_

_softs and firms,_

_roars and whispers,_

_aromas and odors,_

_bitters and sweets…_

… clang… honk…CLANG! CLANG! HONK! CLANG!

Wake, grunt, roll over, cover head with pillow.

HOWL! CLANG! howl… clang… clang…

roars and _whispers,_

_softs and firms,_

_brights and darks,_

_bitters and sweets,_

_aromas and odors, …_

Day 5: Saturday, November 12th

I groan quietly at the aches of rolling awake. While the sun brightened room and my roommates snores, were all reassuring in their ways, the peculiar stiffness of waking on air-firmed plastic made me stifle a second moan. At least, it had been another nightmare-free slumber, or no Dreamland nightmares, I should say. The crazy-loud carful of rowdy drunks roaring down our street had been its own kind of waking nightmare. However, since I had slipped quickly back into dreamless slumber, I was not even very resentful of the rude joyriders,

          I lay there for a moment, as the various confusing and wondrous parts of my memory started spinning. Before signing Anwynn's insidious contract, confusion and anxiety had always given me nightmares. So, I wondered if my mental position had been flipped, so that calm thoughts would produce the bad-dreams, or maybe I was simply set to random in that regard.

          I also lay there listening past the snores, to hear Tegan’s bedroom and then bathroom doors open and close, as the regimented lass once more claimed first shower. Even though, my meager wardrobe could use another washing, I chose to let Tegan bathe in peace. Instead, I made a note in my pad to purchase n alarm-clock. Then I went about packing my bed, to work the kinks out of my muscles, while I waited for the shower.

          Breakfast was another communal affair. Runner and Runner had apparently done our turn, the day before, so a new duo manned the kitchen. I was a passable cook, with simple dishes, like oatmeal, French toast, maybe a roast, however Tallwind and Wade really knew their way around kitchen tools. So, our morning meal consisted of various flavors of mini-quiches and potato pancakes.

With no furniture, every meal was a study in plate and cup balancing. The only non-floor flat surface was the small kitchen-counter, just big enough for one person to use as a standing table—Wade got dibs on this occasion. At least, when we had been upgraded to proper ceramic plates and inexpensive flatware; always easier to cope with than flexible plastic items.

Tallwind explained, as each person comment on the new tableware, “Kyle came by last night, all excited about his tip money, and wanted help carrying home decent plates and stuff.” He shrugged and loose skin settled long after the gesture. “Since we were their anyway, I grabbed the mini-pie tins and a few other things for chow.”

          My eyes widened inadvertently when I spotted the other addition to our meal. In addition to the utensils and plates, Solanna was in attendance. us. The pallid platinum-blond stayed mostly within the alcove/vestibule, between our front door and front closet—the darkest corner available. Solanna looked exceptionally drawn and sickly in mid-calf black hiking boots, an ankle-length black skirt with web-like black-satin lace-overskirt, a low cut black spaghetti strap tank top, and a wide black hair-band to keep her dry white strands back. The goth girl had also employed dark blue and purple makeup, to over-emphasize her sunken features. A dark woolen peacoat served as Solanna’s cushion.

          Runner mumble-gargled an explanation that he had found the wan Lit GA near O’Bleness memorial the nigh before and invited her to come back with him.

          Solanna, settled her plate on her crossed legs and said, "Kyle, told me about how everyone clubbed in for this place and suggested it might be okay for me to join in. He said it was, like a two-hundred bucks and I would be happy to cover a share."

          I was impressed that Runner had been both considerate enough to offer a fellow survivor some refuge, as well as sensible enough to explain our financial stakes. Solanna, on the other hand, gave me chills and not just because of her spirit-touched aura, or whatever it was.

          Certainly my mooch-meter had zeroed out, as soon as the sickly lass had offered to pay her fair share. Even so, the only thing that betrayed Solanna’s corpse status was her ability to move and talk. The pale woman’s eyes had even gone completely black, from edge to edge. More than looking grim, Solanna seemed to enjoy it and all of its connotations, which was my real warning sign. On the other hand, I agreed with Runner’s impulse to aid a Kendal refugee. Plus, it did not hurt that Solanna’s contribution would notably reduce my monthly expenses.

          It did not seem like any of my six allies shared any of my trepidations, so Solanna was readily accepted into our collective. After breakfast ended, I would calculate and collect the lank-haired lass’s first month contribution, then redistribute equal amounts to those of us that had already paid. I would also record the accompanying gentle _thrum-hum_ in my journal, describing how it seemed to have mingled with the sensation originally created by our group at the IHOP.

In the mean time we ate and everyone seemed a fair deal more comfortable than they had over the past few days. At least, as relaxed as an unfurnished could physically allow. Since there was no offering of dream remembrances, I assumed that two nights of decent sleep was a major contributor to everyone’s attitudes. There still were not any smiles around the group, yet there was also a noted decline of haunted glances and tense neck muscles. Exception of Rai. The large quiet fellow’s pale-green cat-eyes were tired and he was curling in on himself much more than other meetings.

Tegan was the only one of us to venture a gentle, "Hey Leroy, are you feeling okay? You look beat."

          After a few slow blinks at the much smaller wisp of a woman, Rai rolled out his deep baritone. "Yeah, I'm fine… I've just been working on my bike, most of the night." He shrugged large shoulders. "I'll probably grab another nap, after I eat."

          I wondered if Rai's obsession with his Suzuki might be a magical compulsion, like the story of the red dancing-shoes, or the water toting broom-sticks. Rather than claiming danger, though, I resolved to track the repairs. Realistically, I barely knew the panther-dude, so until loss f self control was evident, I was inclined to believe that the trained engineer was simply a work-a-holic.

          With all these other notable features to the morning, it had taken me a while to recognize that Gavin had returned to reddish-orange in color. The earthen fellows yellow wrist and neck bands, especially caught my eye, until I remember that when the rest of him had been grey, the bands had been more like silver or steel. However, when I tried to ask Gavin about it, he just shrugged, "Yeah, it just went away."

          The normally talkative former fireman’s flat tone clearly conveyed that he had no interest in discussing his transformation. It was almost as if Gavin felt like everything was magically inexplicable, so why bother thinking about it. Which only made me circle and underline the entry in my notes to “research spirit-touched magical abilities.

          Meanwhile, the conversation quickly became dominated by the topic of the emotion-vampirism which Tegan, Wade, Gavin, and I had identified the night before. Tallwind and Runner each expressed that they had not consciously realized the implications, yet both felt similar hunger-attractions as Tegan had described.

          "I've been benefitting,” Solanna admitted, with a positive breathy-enthusiasm, ”from the fear of people in the hospital"

          I could not help but to again remember the empty-eyed lady sucking the vitality from a nurse, through her palm-mouths. In addition to an involuntary shiver, I experienced confusion over what it might mean that Solanna also claimed to draw on fear. Especially, from the way Solanna spoke, it did not seem that she used her creepy manual orifices for the fear gathering.

          And what exactly did I mean by "drawn from" or “gathered”. Clearly we gained something from the experience, but what? Power? Essence? More spirit? Did they make us as much shadow-eaters as the fetch using my life? I had certainly felt as if the ill-defined emptiness which I had been experiencing was lessened. Yet, Solanna’s nurse victim had obviously physically weakened, while none of the dancers at the club had seemed at all phased. Which did make me think that our general emotion draining might not really be vampirism, since whatever Solanna did with her hands had clearly been so much closer to the mythologies of the undead blood-suckers. Unless, the pasty-skinned lass was simply at a more advanced stage of whatever it meant to be spirit-touched and vitality suckers were in all of our futures.

          Thoughts like that were why the hand-mouths were a puzzle piece which I could do without, though. I hoped that I might be able to ignore the maws out of my memory entirely. So, I was glad that none of my colleagues thought to bring them into the discussion.

Although, the lack of such comparative recognition did jump my thoughts to a the track that was concerned with their general metal stability. As much as I could tell that I was having difficulty staying focused , without aid of my note taking, the others seemed worse. One or the other of my allies always seemed oblivious to their immediate surroundings, let alone what happened hours or days ago.

My train of thought was jostled to yet another track, as I half caught Solanna making some bubbly comment about lurking behind things at the hospital. I flashed again to a dark and tangled forest, with the pale woman always shrouded by some obscuring shadow, impossible to look directly at, like a bright-black sun… Sol! Sol something or something Sol, the safety-name partially clicked into place. My cheeks briefly flushed with personal embarrassment for not having made the connection sooner, as Sol was to Solanna so like Tommy was to Tom. Or, was I really just making the names up all on my own? And if that were true what did it say about me that eerie Sol was the only one that I had given a mechanic similar to my own.

Even with my internal musing taking up so much of my attention, the repetitive quality of my associates meant that I had still gathered the gist of their plans. Most importantly, no group goals had been set. Like a cat fixated on a laser-pointer, Rai single-mindedly returned to his motorcycle restoration. Almost as doggedly, Runner went off in his taxi. I made another note to watch for greater signs of the svelt lad also being under a magical compulsion. Tegan and Wade went less enthusiastically off to the bus stop and then their new found employments. Tallwind even seemed to recognize a pattern and mentioned that he planned to more actively seek work.

          "Well," Gavin clapped his rough hands together with a dull clunk sound, as he address the wrinkly fellow, "you can come with me. I wanna get some more cash over the next couple of days. I'll probably get the bouncer gig at Elements, no problem, but I have no idea how long 'til they’ll pay me."

          "And your plan?" Tallwind's dirt-brown eyes regarded the former fireman flatly.

          Gavin crooked his head to one side in a half shrug, "Pick up another Penny Saver. There seemed to be quite a few odd jobs on offer."

          "Yeah, well… thanks, but I think I need to look for somethin’ a bit more regular." Tallwind grumped.

          I nodded approvingly at the burnt man's sentiment, even though I had the feeling that he was going to extremely picky about whatever job into which he looked. Regardless, I offered, "I need to hit the library again. I can drive you both." I assumed Tallwind wanted the classifieds again. To Gavin I specified. "You know, you'll probably have better luck finding odd jobs on Craig's List."

          Meanwhile, Sol shuffle-staggered into the room which she would share with Tegan, mumbling something about sleep. Drawing my attention to another disturbing aspect of the sallow lass’s spirit-touched transformation, she seemed allergic to sunlight. Again, I wondered if it was a particular misfortune of Sol’s, or were we all fated to follow in her sickly footsteps? Or was she contagious? I made another note, to track Tegan's apparent health, after she and Sol had spent more time sleeping in the same place.

 

The weather report, from my Festiva's radio, promised another clear, dry day, in the upper 50s. The air already felt as if it were in the lower 40s and the sky was corroborating the meteorologist, so I expected the weather to play out as predicted.

          After driving Hank and Tallwind back to the Athens Public Library, I helped the larger man find his electronic way to Craig’s List (again). Then, I spent some time writing up a generic contract for services to be provided. The twinge in my chest and mind suggested that I was wasting my time and a paper trail was extraneous. Even so, the process made me feel more in control over my upcoming interaction, so I followed through.

          I caught the librarians watching me and my cohorts fairly regularly. My first suspicion was that the staff imagined that we were homeless, since some of us had come in every day, for nearly a week. So, a certain amount of concern was probably being paid towards our potential vagrancy. Then it occurred to me, that everyone in my group had only looked cleaner and more put together as the week had progressed. Although, admittedly, I had been the only one to ware more than one set of clothes. Still the attention put me on my best behavior and reminded me to look into getting a laptop or one of the fancy smart-phones, so I could reduce my need for the library’s services.

          After paying for my print-outs, I left my two comrades to their internet efforts and drove to Sheaves & Leaves, in hopes of locating Prof. Peter Dionysus. The cute elfy lass, with short bouncy blond curls, was once more stationed at the bookstore's front desk, so I smiled in recognition, "Hello, uh, Philomena."

          The clerk's clear-ocean eyes twinkled, behind her large spectacles, and she beamed back at me.

          "I was wondering if you could tell me if Dr. Dionysus is on the premises?"

          "Oh, probably, he sthpendsth mostht daysth in the lounging garden." Philomena's lisp was light and easily understood, yet I found it delightfully distracting.

          I thanked the clerk and headed on. The attractive lady, restocking the pastry case, returned my smile and nod, as I passed through the café/tea-room. In addition to the full-face tattoo, which I had seen the previous day, I noticed that the barista had a pair of tiny horns peeking out from under the edge of her chef’s hat.

As I passed through the rare books collection, my mind wondered around categorizations. Was the horned lass a faun like Dionysus? Was Dionysus actually a satyr? Was there a difference between a fauns and a satyrs? Would it be offensive to ask one of them? Were they also considered to be beastlings, as I had read about? Would that be rude to ask? Where would I start to look the answers up, if I just wanted to do the research, without risking offending anyone?

          My musings kept me from being sidetracked by the amazing books and before I knew it I was at the French-doors and entering the classical English-style lounging garden. Although, the area reminded me more of a roofless room, thanks to the multi-storied building defining three walls and the thick forest of tall trees implying the fourth.

          The garden was inhabited, much as the previous day. Various wondrous creatures… people, really, at least mostly. I was not sure whether the periodically lighter-than-air-lemurs counted as people or not. However, I did not dawdle to catalog the various amazing beings meandering and loitering about the lawn. Yet, could not avoid noticing that the strange people were of many varied shapes, sizes, colors, and demeanors as they ate, read, talked, or gamboled.

          Over time and many more visits I would come to understand that the garden always had at least a few spirit-touched in some sort of unofficial rotation. Especially, at least a half dozen partially attired lemurs. At that time, however, I was trying to avoid being distracted, so I shut out the wonders around me as best I could. Even though the small berry bush that shamble-waddled ever so slowly across the grounds towards the forest edge, was very interesting.

          I spied Peter Dionysus straight away, sitting on a stone bench in the shade of the eastern wing of the building. The faun (I decided that sounded less sinister , in my head) was reading a book with his goat hooves crossed before him. The biologist bookmarked his literature and set it aside, as I approached.

Simple greeting pleasantries were followed by my producing the forms which I had printed at the library. As far as I could tell, I was not technically “in” the rare books collection, so I pulled out an ink-pen and started confirming our agreement as I filled in the blanks of what would be provided by each of us and over what time period.

Prof. Dionysus did gently prompt, “You understand that isn’t really necessary?”

“So,” I stared back calmly, “you have a problem with me maintaining a record of our interaction?”

“No, no.” the studious fellow waved sturdy hands. “If it appeases you, then by all means.” He waved magnanimously at the paperwork. “I was merely pointing out that we are bound by our word, unlike mortals, regardless of the documentation.”

I was intrigued by the statement, as I signed all three copied, passing Dionysus the forms and pen, afterward. Then, I remembered stories about supposedly helpful faeries which promised valuable lore, only to distract the protagonist with unrelated information. So, I worried that the professor was trying to use up my time by getting me to ask questions unrelated to my topic of interest, so he could then charge me for a second session.

          As soon as my tutor signed the papers, the odd _hum-thrum_ of deal making ran a new variant through me. This time the sensation seemed to grow from the pre-existing tension within me, swelling, rushing through me, and re-settling in my core, a bit more firmly than before. It was as if our casual agreement had strengthened, which also increased my sense of urgency to pay what I had promised. Once I passed the goat-man the four rolls of golden dollar-coins, my urgency unspooled, easing my inner burden as much as unloading the coins had lightened my backpack. I was only left with the anticipatory part of the odd sensation, which also slowly dissipated over the next three hours of Peter Dionysus’s instruction.

          After I passing Dionysus his copy of the contract, the two of us settled down to my chosen subject matter. The faun joined me, as I made myself comfortable on the cool dry lawn. Peter Dionysus wore a leather-elbowed tweed blazer, plumb colored vest, white shirt, and grass-green tie. The tie was knotted with something more fancy than a standard Windsor, however that was the extent of my knowledge of the subject. I found myself noticing such little details, because the furry legged fellow wore no pants or shoes to cover his cloven hooves. While the tails of the faun’s shirt did hang low enough to afford some decorum, it also tended to ride up. A fact of which Dionysus seemed wholly unconcerned. At least, the sky was clear, Although, the temperature was once more, unfortunately, easily ten degrees warmer than the rest of Athens Ohio.

          Prof. D opened the conversation by reaching up and over to a plate that had been resting next to him on the bench. The faun held the plate out to me, it on which seemed to be three large dark-purply raspberries, "Snozberry?"

          In addition to thinking this was another ploy to keep me from the shadow-eater lore for which I had come, I considered the many fairy-stories which warned against eating the food of magical creatures or realms. On the other hand, I was already trapped within the spirit-touched world. The idea of poison or drugging came to me, except the goat-footed fellow had not yet fulfilled his part of our bargain, so harming or addling me would probably not be in his best interest. Lastly, I chided myself for finding the magical world around me enticing, yet not enough to partake of it's fruits.

          "I believe I shall." I finally allowed my hovering hand to pluck-up one of the surprisingly hefty berries and pop it into my mouth….

          Snozberry juice was thick and tangy, tasting like an earthy version of a blackberry-raspberry hybrid. It was the matter of a moment or two to thoroughly chew and swallow. Then I was fully sated, as if I had completed a large three or four course meal. Still unwilling to relinquish time to unrelated data, I merely observed the remaining berries for later reference and noted, in my pad, to verify if the effect was truly satiating or not.

          You, dear reader, may be pleased to know that I did eventually confirm that one snozberry does indeed fulfill basic dietary needs equivalent to a single meal. However, a steady diet of the fruit can lead to unusual body transformations, of which discolored skin is the mildest. So, it is strongly advised that no more than five snozberries be consumed within any consecutive seven day span.

          "So what is it you want to know?" Dionysus finally got around to our actual business.

          Acutely aware of our three-hour time limit, I spoke fairly rapidly, starting with explaining what I had already discovered of shadow-eaters. My penchant for disturbing while I talk was enhanced, as I attempted to keep my side of the conversation concise. The point I eventually got to was, "I want to get rid of the fetch-thing that is impersonating me… has been doing so for fourteen-years as far as I can tell.” I ran my hand through my sandy and blond colored hair. ”So, primarily, I want to know what you can tell me to achieve that."

          Dionysus’s eyebrows arced up and his oddly-shaped yellowy-eyes opened wider, behind his half-moon spectacles, "Why do care about the flawed imitation?"

          "Because,” I was confused that the reasons were not obvious, “it has my life and has ruined people's opinions of me—at least the people that I care about." Even if I was speculating based on my limited research, I saw no need to make that equivocation for the biologist.

          "Alright," Dionysus tried another tack, holding out his left hand palm up and pointing his index finger at me, "Why do you even want your old life back? You are changed and replacing your Fetch won't undo that."

          I let that sink in for a few long moments, realizing that there were bigger issues for me to contemplate. Issues which I had been avoiding, at least in part intentionally. On the other hand, I felt as if I had only just got a few of the corner pieces in place, for the “big picture” question that Prof. Dionysus was posing. So, I choose to stick to my short term goal and worry about how it applies to that other stuff later. "I'm not sure that I do want my life back, per se. I just know that I don't want that thing to have it." I returned the faun’s upside-down point. "Plus, look-a-likes in stories, usually mean trouble for their counterparts. And, from what I could tell, with just one day's research, stories are more important to the likes of us. So, at the very least, I want to be prepared to defend against this shadow-eater-jerk."

          Dionysus shrugged unconvinced acceptance, then proceeded to address the topic. The professorial fellow had grinned with approval when I had listed my research. So, he started with nomenclature, "In general, ‘fetch’ is the common usage in this region of the world. Personally, I favor the word as being the most unpleasant sounding, for such unpleasant creatures. All those other names just seem too exotic or poetic."

          I smiled at the echo of my own thoughts.

          Rather than transcribe the full fairly dry three-hour discussion, I shall only subject my fine reader to a single dry expositional paragraph. Fetch are made things, like Bright One versions of robot-clones, in order to replace a captured mortal. The Folk are most adept at taking children, so fetch are usually made young and grow without any knowledge of their true natures. When adults are replaced, the fetch often have a harder time living a life for which it does not have all the experiences. It is not clear why fetch eat shadows of mortals, however deprivation results in the fetch acting more chaotically. Such shadows do regrow, just as blood or dreams renew, however shadows seem to replenish much slower. When awakened to their true natures fetch have been known to access and wield the powerful forces which had bound them together in the first place, as well as the shadows at there disposal. On the other hand, fetch have no specific strengths or weaknesses, such as crosses, silver, salt, and so on. The more a fetch is forced to accept its artificial origin (such as by being made to see the person it is copying), the more it will do whatever it can to keep the life to which it has become attached. Thus, the longer a fetch is active the more it clings to its stolen life.

          Obviously, in three-hours, Peter Dionysus was able to provide greater nuance and in more detail. So, if you, dearest reader, crave more in depth coverage, I strongly advise you to seek the good professor and pony-up your own hundred-bucks, or pint of blood, or equivalent.

          Dionysus also clarified, at one point, "Changeling is, of course, more accurately used when describing ourselves, not these doppelgangers. The tales that have been passed down and amongst mortals tend to get muddied." He looked wistfully off into the distance. "Sometimes, the nature of passing along information is itself to blame. However, more often, we find it necessary to obscure the truth, so as to mislead a nosy mortal, or to make luring harder for the Keepers."

          "Uh, 'Keepers', are those faeries?" I asked, absentmindedly plucking blades of grass.

          Sucking in a breath, Dionysus looked around furtively, as he answered in an indignant whisper. "Do not call Them that.” The capital letter was audible. “True Fae, if you must. Sidhe, if you’re dealing with a particularly old-world sort of person. And yes, Keepers, Masters, Gentry, Nobles, Shining or Bright Ones are all safer references for the Folk." Hourglass-eyes held mine. “Never any that ‘F’ word, regardless of your spelling.”

          It was clear from the faun’s rigid body-language that he believed that merely speaking the wrong words could be dangerous. Which matched with what I knew of folklore from both my previous days research and my time as a mortal. Or it was also possible that Prof. Dionysus may have been more worried about considerations of social propriety. Either way, I was part of the spirit-touched community, so best to heed any warnings that had been freely given.

          While I was jotting notes, either for that last commentary, or some other fetch related data, another person sidled over to us. I use the word ‘person’ loosely and ‘sidled’ literally. The man(?) was more disturbing by far than Sol or any other spirit-touched I had yet seen. “He” was dressed in rags which had once been jeans, a dark t-shirt, and sneaker, and exposed skin was a chaotic mess of splotches and sores in a wide range of sickly hues (bruise purples through greens and yellow). There were spots that looked like moss, although worst of all was tumor obscuring a large portion of the unfortunate creature’s pockmarked face.

The wretch had crept up sidewise, from an angle which had prevented my noticing. Until, my tutor wacked the stranger on the head, with a walking stick, which had been leaning against the stone bench. The sickly stranger said "Ow! Dude!", rubbed his head, and moved well away with some haste.

Dionysus replace his cane, against the bench, and shook his head while tutting. “Unremitting beggar.”

          “Not a friend, then?” I raised one eyebrow.

          “Offers nothing and does as little as possible, within the letter of any agreement.” Goat-eyes rolled.

          So, I had already uncovered much of what Dionysus had to say of shadow-eaters. Nor a simple way to banish my imposter. Even so, with the additional bits of knowledge imparted, I felt it had been one-hundred dollars well spent.

I returned to the rare books stacks, still comfortably fed from my snozberry, and full of plans for more research. I had dozen of subjects to look into from before my meeting with the faun and almost as many more added during the tutoring session. Needless to say, without a very specific target going in, my muddled mind met the near endless variety offered by the collection, and I spent most of my afternoon just browsing.

Pausing to skim through whatever titles caught my fancy, I stumbled upon a few lines which obliquely mentioned “…the outer inner-self of all forever changing changelings.” Thus, leading me down a path of research which ultimately indicated that spirit-touched are far more mutable in appearance, nature, and abilities than any mortal man or woman. In addition to the new form and functions assigned by their Keeper, changelings strongest interests, personality traits, and convictions also tended to manifest in some outward appearance. Which could mean “what you see, is what you get” with spirit-touched, however it is not quite that straight forward. A spirit-touched made of living flame, may be a fiery and volatile personality, or a calm and sweet person may have been used as a torch for some Bright Ones banquette hall. To complicate the issue further, I found one source which suggested that more and repeated exposure to the tangled Briar exacerbated the effect, possibly randomly. Plus, other fae magics may factor in, as well.

While generally inconclusive, my reading did give examples of one particular topic—enough to allay, at least, one of my concerns. It turns out that the unfathomable and malicious Folk are known to twist come people into health-eater. Most often called vitalityleeches, these grim spirit-touched are able to replenish their own wounds and ailments by sucking the health out of someone else. The sucking may be through the regular mouth or more often via additional orifices grown somewhere into the changeling—hands seem common, yet breasts were mentioned in one of the stories that I read.

Therefore, due to the “what you see, is what you get” aspect of spirit-touched, vitalityleeches association with weakening health tends to make them appear wan or sickly. So, whatever unspeakable torments Sol had gone through in her particular captivity had shaped her into a vitalityleech. Thus, I was able to stop fretting about growing my own hand-maws, or craving living essences.

Interestingly, Sol’s enthusiasm for the morbid did not seem related, though. At least, according to the literature, several sources agree that “darklings” were any spirit-touched that enjoy, seek out, or revel in the macabre. Which also helped to shed some light on my previous studies. However, as much as I anted to pursue the possible answered to what then are the differences between elves, spites, and pixies? How done gnarling, beastling, gnomes, and a dozen others relate? My throat had grown dry, in moisture-free air of the surrounding rare books, to the point where I could ignore it no longer.

I still was not exactly hungry, however the tea-room provided a lovely china cup of an exotic sounding tea with an aromatic honey, instead of bland sugar. Even more delightfully, I somehow found myself actually chatting with Rosa, the “tattoo”-faced chef and server behind the counter. Up close, the blue and white diamond-pattern looked less like a tattoo, on Rosa’s distinctly Hispanic features, and more like a jigsaw or tiles.

          I believe we were on the topic of appearances, due to my readings, though I may have unintentionally said something about the lady's face decorations, which I immediately worried could have been taken as rude. Luckily, Rosa just giggled, "You really are a sun-ripened berry, fresh off the vine, aren't you?" Her warm caring voice matched her whole demeanor, though her purely Midwestern accent proved that her ancestry was a generation or more removed from its homeland.

          "Okay, um so, I'm new to, uh, all this," I waved my tan hand, indicating me, her, the building, and everything fae. Then, I feared the topic a bit to the side, “So, can you tell me what's the deal with mirrors, and photos? And why normal people don't freak out?"

          "Awe, sweetie, that's the Masque." Cinnamon-colored eyes twinkled amidst the Alabaster and azure rhomboids. Then, Rosa's teasing grin turned somewhat sympathetic at my wide eyed expression of pleading confusion. "As in masquerade, or make believe. It's one of the oldest and most powerful deals."

          I nodded understanding of the words, yet my confused expression explained that I still needed help with how they were being used.

          Rosa sighed and rolled her large eyes and continued cleaning and organizing the area behind the counter. "As far as I know, no-one knows if it was a bargain struck with the Keepers or the first of us to find our way free.” She tucked an errant strand of black hair behind her pointed right ear—the blue one. “Whoever it was, they struck a bargain with the world, to hide the truth of fae from the senses of men and women." She made sure to stare into my crystalline amber-eyes, as her face went flat and serious. "Don't break the deal. Someone should have told you this already, but clearly they haven't. Do not go trying to reveal what you've become."

I swallowed hard and mustered a faint nod of understanding. Rosa acknowledged my reaction, with her own much firmer nod, yet she still added, “Bad things always come from breaking any bargain, but breaking the Masque will call the Keepers to you."

          "Okay, um…" A vivid image of a perfect and terrible youth, with a smile like ice in the desert, made me blink nervously. So, I attempted to steer the conversation away from talk of doing things which would call the attention of the horrible-wondrous youth, or Anwynn, or the like. "So, uh, what about reflections then? Why do I, uh, see the... um, the Masques of spirit-touched, but not my own? And why is my, uh, Masque tanned, when I wasn't before?"

          Rosa flapped a light-brown hand with flower coated fingers, around her wrist, "Mirrors just got special rules. Glass Refractory, or someone like her, might know more about it." She warmed me with another broad smile, as another customer came to the counter.

          The customer appeared to be a normal human in her sixties or seventies, Rosa spoke to her, “Oh, hello Mrs. Kleinen, I'll be with you in just a moment." Looking to me, with a private wink, "As too your last question, Sunshine, that's just your summery disposition, shining through."

          I realized that Rosa had obscured her last answer on purpose. As elderly Mrs. Kleinen and her equally senior party of three, were all mortals—possibly a bit more so, than most. Having just been warned to not give away anything about our fae-ness, even my questionable memory kept me from pressing for more clarification. Since the retirees looked as if they were settling in for quite a while, I waved farewell to Rosa. Though, I did pause before leaving to jot more notes, reminding my future self to follow-up on the “summery disposition” comment, as well as who was Glass Refractory and a few other details regarding bargains and their consequences.

Of course, that assumed my future self would remember to check my damn notes. For that was when I had realized that my past few hours in the stacks had not actually involved any of the other list of items which I had intended to research. I could only shake my head, at my own incompetence, as I approached the front register.

          I presented the second copy of the contract, which Dionysus and I had signed, to Philomena. "What’sth thisth?" Her aqua-eyes fixed quizzically at the paper.

          "Uh, Professor Dionysus and I, um, created and fulfilled a contract, um, on the premises. That,” I placed the page on the desk, ”uh, is the portion that I, um, owe the proprietor." My self-satisfied grin may have been somewhat theatrical, as I glanced to the drawer from which Philomena had originally pulled the membership contracts,

          The perky clerk suppress a laugh, nodded, and took the paper. I left feeling quite accomplished and wondering if there was any chance of me asking either Philomena or Rosa out on a date… No, both lady’s were pretty and charming enough to have their pick of whoever came in. Even if they did not already have partners, my own awkwardness was hardly likely to appeal… Still fun to imagine, though.

 

All eight of our rental-housemates regrouped at the ranch-style shelter, for another communal meal and what-did-you-do-today story time. I was again grateful for having figured out that unmodified food was so much kinder to our taste buds. The free-range organic chicken-breasts, which Wade grilled up for our fajitas was not completely free of any chemical flavor, however it was way better than the fast food that I had tried. Even so, I made a note to look into finding a local butcher who might have even cleaner meat.

          Although, eight quickly became seven, as Rai returned to the garage, after wolfing down a plateful of food (or, perhaps, panthered down, in his case). Tegan’s bright-green eyes stared after the departed engineer, “Should we be worried that he’s pushing himself too hard?”

          “Nah,” Tallwind’s gruff voice put an end to that topic, “He slept a couple of hours, before you got back. And that’s on top of the nap after breakfast.”

          Which made me wonder how much job hunting the burn-scarred self-proclaimed detective had done. If Tallwind had been home long enough to know about Rai’s sleeping habits, then the he must have been hanging around. My mooch-meter started to rise, however I bit my tongue. Tallwind had covered his first month’s rent, so I did not really have any grounds for confrontation, unless the December money did not get paid.

          I raised my mood by eagerly relaying most of my conversations with Peter Dionysus and Rosa. I kept the vitalityleech and darkling information to myself, until I could verify a little more. I had assumed that most of my housemates would have been as eager as me to learn of their own shadow-eater duplicates. Especially since all of the doppelgangers that had been discussed were as, or more, shady than my own; Tallwind's led a cult on a compound somewhere, Runner had mentioned that his old address was clearly inhabited by a hoarder, and Tegan's fake was on meds and living with her parents. Yet, my diner companions were even more apathetic than the day before, when the truth of fae and magic had been revealed to them.

          So, needless to say, my mood dimmed and I wound up stewing more than participating. It was bad enough that none of them seemed as awestruck as I felt they should, but the lack of interest in their own lives was pathetic. Even if the others were suffering from as much focus and memory problems as myself, their disinterest was starting to border on full-blown brain damage.

On the other hand, they may have simply become single-minded addicts. Almost as intent as Rai with his motorcycle repairs, my colleagues kept rehashing every incident of the weird vitality and the so-called emotion-vampirism which provided it. So, it was not all that surprising that general reports of the day turned to weird vitality collection and then a consensus to head out to another nightclub for more experimentation.

          We had taken to calling it "weird vitality", because effect was not one of sustenance, per se. Those of us from Elements, each still had still grown hungry and ate food normally—allowing for my snozberry. Rather the sensation, that we seemed to taken in from the emotions, was invigorating and somewhat intoxicating, as well as sort of like a taught-hum floating around behind our brains.

Rai, once again, declined our invitation to join the party, in favor if his pet project. I went, in part as a favor to relieve some of the burden on Runner's off-duty hack. The hair-covered cabbie chauffeured Wade, Tallwind, and the surprisingly healthy looking Sol, in his taxi. Gavin had called shotgun, in my Festiva, and Tegan rode in back. Although, mostly I also wanted to learn more about the weird-vitality effect and practical field-tests were almost as interesting as book research..

          I had a list of clubs that I had lined up, in case my Elements job fell through, however before he we headed out, Sol suggested, "We can go to the Union!" She was bubblier than she had been since before our enslavement by the Folk. "It's got two floors, so we can spread out,” pale hands spread wide, “and really practice this emotion sucking thing." She pursed her lips and inhaled, as if around a straw.

          In spite of the enthusiasm expressed at going to collect weird-vitality, Sol’s suggestion was met with tepid responses.

          "Awe, come on guys." The monochromatic woman pouted very theatrically. "I used to go before this Kendal thing happened. I'm sure it'll be great." Which turned out to be just enough wheedling to get the group off the floor and preparing to go.

          It was surprising how much more lively Sol sounded and appeared. A good night’s… well, day’s sleep could do wonders. Not to mention what must have been some fairly liberal use of foundation and other cosmetics, since Sol barely looked ill at all.

          The Union Bar & Grill, was still in business, and did indeed comprise both levels of a two story building—live music and a dance floor upstairs, a more conventional DJ run club below. At Gavin’s insistence, party had discussed a plan of splitting up with regular regroupings every fifteen to twenty minutes to compare notes. Unsurprisingly, Gavin and I just wound up circulating throughout both clubs and connecting with our allies whenever possible. Even then, it should have just been the rough-hewn weightlifter, except he kept pestering me to go along—apparently filling some desperate need for Gavin to have a body to guard.

          Over the last few days, I had found that I usually liked having the blocky fellow looming nearby. My heightened paranoia believed that a big guy like Hank would deter most threats and draw attention to himself, if a fight did break out. In this case, though, I spent more time thinking that Tegan and Sol were each far more likely to be accosted, without a strapping fireman-dude at their side. Although, the athletic redhead’s martial-arts and ROTC training might mean that she could really take care of herself. Which still left sol… and her life sucking hand-maws. I sighed, maybe I was the group’s frailest member.

          I had never been much of a club-goer, the noise and crappy lighting generally put me off. However, especially considering my recent thoughts, I absolutely understood the desire to stop thinking and rub up against attractive young people. I really got how liquor could be employed to lubricate brain-cells enough to loosen uptight social morays, to a point that just bumping into another person seemed like meaningful human contact. And, the joint was jumping, as the cliché goes; Saturday-night _and_ just past mid-terms in a college town, of course the double-bar was full of young twenty-somethings and slightly younger pretty people, being allowed to pass for legal drinking age.

          Even so, I limited myself to a few beers and a little dancing. Realistically, I simply was not interested in getting wasted. Especially, as I really was still interested in experiments involving the weird-vitality. Besides, I had temporarily forgotten how normal woman looked (or more accurately, failed to look) at my un-changed human visage, which was all that they could see. Plus, I realized with a chest caving lurch, not only did my Masque hide my refined elfin features, it also showed my fourteen-year older self. Which still made me the youngest looking of my party, yet easily just one of a handful of creepy old guys trolling the clubs.

Worse still, Gavin constant presence at my side was not helping my prospects any, either. Sure the guy’s Masque looked like a well-fit model body-builder… in his late fifties. It must have looked like I had brought my dad to the bar, or my sugar daddy. I shuddered and quick-stepped enough to put a stranger between Gavin and myself.

          At least, even though the volume was still too loud to converse over, the dim lighting did not bother me. Thanks to my magical glow-aura, I was able to guaranty that wherever I stood had just enough light, by which to see.

          Meanwhile, the rest of my collective were more serious about engaging the party atmosphere. Tegan and Sol especially flirted and danced and generally seemed to be having a good time. Runner was giving it the ol'-college-try, however he also looked much better below his Masque, which looked older and pudgier than mine. Wade and Tallwind were as bad off as Gavin, amongst the barely-legal clientele. Still, my male cohorts all got their drink-on and enjoyed the sights.

          After a few circuits of the double-club, me and my earthenware-shadow had gathered and relayed as much as we were going to get from our increasingly inebriated allies. The results confirmed that each of us got a charge from one of three basic emotions—pleasure, fear, or anger. I was sort of proud to be our only party drawn to anger. The other emotions were fine, except for having to share their fruits, with fear and pleasure being split equally amongst my group. Runner and Tegan both shared a penchant for pleasure heightened mortals, with Tallwind of all people. In the other camp, Sol suitably fit in with the fear favorers Wade and Gavin. Apparently, Sol had used her thirty-something Masque appearance to put the terror of a cougar into a particularly naïve young lad.

          Tegan provided a more detailed report. "Well, full on horniness is the best." Her freckles were almost completely obscured by the flush in her delicate cheeks and much of her emerald eyes had been lost to dilated pupils. "But, almost any true desire works, just to lesser degrees."

          "You, seem to be maintaining much better than last night." I leaned in and shouted over the music. The curvaceous woman's floral faery-aura almost made me swoon.

          "Yes," silky auburn-tresses swaying in counter point to Tegan’s hips, apparently unable to stop dancing, "it still feels great, but sort of knowing what to expect makes it a lot easier to not over do it.” She closed her eyes and bobbed her head to the beat. “Plus, if I concentrate on either enjoying it, or getting past it, I can keep or shorten the buzz a little."

          "So, um, when you say there’s lesser potencies," I was dancing along and mostly just prolonging the conversation for the sake of it, "is it like, uh, for me and anger? Like, uh, the ring of girls last night, uh, they were pissed at you and their boyfriends and that was amazing. But, um, here I have only gotten like whiffs of like peevishness or irritation. And that's hardly even noticeable."

          More affirmative dance-nodding, "Totally. the lust here comes in all sorts of flavors, or intensities, or whatever."

          That was when Gavin tapped my shoulder, “We need to check on Kyle.” Barked into my ear.

         Runner was on the far side of the club and turned out to be fine. Perhaps the sleek muscled hirsute lad was a bit more blissed out than Tegan, yet lucid enough all the same. Part of me suspected that Gavin had been less concerned for Runner, than he was tired of watching me have fun dancing with Tegan. The other part of me believed the orange rock-man was really just bored with his own white-guy two-step and wanted to walk around some more.

          My self pity stepped aside, when I caught unexpected sight of Sol. I had been girding myself all evening, each time I would have to seek out the potential life drainer. I did not care for how that addition made look in comparison to Sol’s earlier fear subject, so it was just as well that her appearance so distracted me. While dancing and flirting with a half dozen emo-lads, it was clear that I had been fooling myself about the use of make-up to effect more liveliness.

          The once almost decrepit Sol, was instead vivaciousness. By day, the fatigued Lit major's skin might range from pale waxy to pallid chalky, with long- brittle, unruly, hair of dull ash-white. Lacking any discernable muscle tone, Sol would move as if nauseous and headache-y. At night, however, I allowed myself to see that Sol's bubbly nature returned, along with taught silky-skin and muscle-tone. A shimmery sheet of platinum-hair rippled as it swept across the lithe woman’s shoulders and back. Even Sol’s all-black goth attire hung better, the lacy satin top which had been frumpy and dowdy, was instead clingy, perky, and teasing.

          I let myself absorb the scene, then veered off to the other floor of the Union. The metamorphosis only made Sol seem more disturbingly vampiric. I remembered, again, the nurse collapsing and Sol's extended hungry mouths and grasping fingers. I wondered if it was at all my responsibility to worry about any of the club-goers. Gavin had said that he thought he had broken a guy’s jaw and we all just left him unconscious in a crowded bar. Was that less irresponsible? I settled for hoping that the pale vitalityleech had no taste for whatever kind of spirit-touched that I was.

          Over time, I would learn that sun-sickness was a common trait for darklings to develop. Something about a predominantly morbid mindset in spirit-touched just made them allergic to the life affirming daylight hours. My future reading would also imply that Sol’s dramatic physical alterations were cause by taking a particularly acute pleasure in suffering and the dead. Before and after discovering these details, I was still left trying to not wonder if the Folk had made Sol a darkling, or if that had simply been part of her true nature exposed by the changing.

          Getting back around to the corner where Wade had stiffed himself for skeevy-old-guy-at-the-club solo drinking and people watching, he was as bored as Gavin, so the three of us called an end to the outing. It was tempting to leave Sol, Tegan, and Runner, to fend for themselves, as they had all insisted, however the young people were given them the what’s-wrong-with-those-old-people stares as well. Besides Runner was too drunk to be left in charge of his cab. So, we conscripted Tallwind and he helped me, Wade, and Gavin pour the other three into our two vehicles. The same passenger ended up in each car, although Wade had rested the taxi’s keys from Runner and Tegan more lay than sat in my Festiva’s back seat.

          On the ride, I shared an observation, “So, it’s, uh, pretty good that we all went. Like, especially, in light of what we learned, right?”

          “Hmmm?” Tegan’s voice mocked deep thinking sounds.

          “How do you mean?” Gavin remained earnestly interested in anything that smacked of teamwork.

          “Well, uh,” I rubbed the back of my neck, “clearly we tend to get, um… sloppy, with this weird-vitality stuff.’

          “Like drunk teenagers.” Agreed Hank, glanced over a square shoulder at Tegan.

          The giddy redhead blew a raspberry.

          “Exactly.” I made a left-hand turn. “But, uh, as a group, we can really watch out for each other. Especially, since we all have, um, different favorites, right?” I chewed my lip in thought for a second. “Like, if I was getting close to a furious jock, I might be too blissed-out to notice him about to swing at me.” I raise my right-hand palm up. “Since none of the rest of you would be, um, affected by the anger, it should be easy for you to step in and get me away, before I got pummeled. Or, if some girls were afraid, because some old-looking guy was coming on too strong, Sol or Tegan could intervene, before any bouncers did.”

          “Makes sense to me.” Gavin nodded.

          “May mene ma me.” Tegan badly mimicked the fireman, giggled, and then started to snore.

          So, when we got home, Gavin wound up mostly waking Tegan to march her into her room, rather than carefully carrying her, as he easily could have.

          While inflating my mattress, I reflected on how satisfyingly informative the day had been. I had expected to drift off to sleep, while imagining my next research target. However, I my head hit the pillow and consciousness fell out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:


	7. Chapter 7

Running, crawling, run-crawling along the sun-warmed sidewalk. The pale grey squares of paving slabs sped past beneath feet and hands. Up on two legs for a while, sluggish. Then back down to all fours, grabbing the hot concrete and pulling forward for more speed.

          The high-schools broad lawn is to the right. The lush green grass would be more soothing to run-crawl across. The soft earth beneath would slow movement even more than just two legs. Still pulling harder with strong arms, pushing faster with strong legs.

          The thrill of motion. The bright pale blue sky almost the same color as the paving slabs. The wind cursing through hair and pushing back against face and shoulders. Leaping over the next pale-grey square.

          Pull, push, run-crawl, leap. Another leap farther than the last. Run, run, grab-pull, push-off… hand drift, pass many slabs. Anticipate landing, quick pill-push-run crawl-leap… farther again,.. and again…

          … fly soon?

 

Day 6: Sunday, November 13th

The silence was odd, until I groggily realized that neither Gavin, nor Wade were snoring. A bleary look confirmed the two mens’ sleeping-bags were empty. Some serious blinking later, I processed that I had slept in, the sun was pushing off of the horizon, unlike previous morning where it had not yet peeked over. The sound of housemates bustling echoed through the unfurnished house. I stretched thoroughly enjoying the feeling of full rested-ness in my muscles and bones.

          I even grinned at the fading images of what seemed like a perfectly normal dream. No blood-chilling vividness or sense of impossible memory, lingered to vex me, as my wake-me-at-three dreams still remained sharp days later. Rather than persistent confusion, unease, and loneliness, as I shook loose my sleep matted hair, my impressions of flying, or chasing, or high-school, or whatever it had been simply dissolved into the background noise of my waking mind.

          At first I even thought that my note to get an alarm-clock had been presumptuous. Getting up after my associates offered many pleasantries. Then, I discovered why being last up, in a household of eight people and one bathroom was a bad idea. It had even seemed fortuitous that I did not have to wait very long for second-to-last bather, Wade, to exit the lavatory. On the other hand, any semblance of warm-water was long gone, by the time I entered the shower.

          By the time that I entered the more communal areas of out house, my compatriots had not gotten very far. Everyone else had bathed, dressed, and fed themselves, yet shuffled or leaned about with the gingerly manner of all hangover sufferers everywhere ever. Lumpy-orange Gavin and I were the only ones not whispering and wincing our way through the morning. I was in such a good mood that I spread the feeling, by whistling, while I scrambled myself some eggs—I grinned madly at the thought of it, though.

          Plus, having reviewed my notepad, while waiting for the shower, I had other thoughts to afford more attention, than teasing those that had exceeded there limits. I had even effectively generated a personal philosophical conundrum. I had decided to reject my own and varied theories of what had happened to me, mainly because other people and books had told me that I was a spirit-touched, a changeling, escaped from the clutches of the Folk. Why should those sources be more valid, than my own reasoning? On the other hand, my life before had been pretty much accepting the reports of others, regarding what human was and that I was one. Besides, my sense seemed to confirm the new magical claims.

          Meanwhile a more practical part of my mind just luxuriated in having food, shelter, transportation, and a line on an income source to maintain those necessities. Additionally, the quality of necessities was fairly impressive for having only started with a thousand-bucks and about five days of effort. I smile with pride at the idea that my bartending gig was even likely to garner me far more cash, than my supposedly more educated elders. There was still the unclear matter of how necessary gathering anger was and how I would go about it. Yet, the need seemed manageable and Sheaves & Leaves seemed to be a reliable resource.

As I cooked, ate, and thought, the soft conversation of my bloodshot and puffy housemates ebbed and flowed around me.

          "… more parts, but my cash is getting low." Rai's low rumble-voice said as his tired pale bluish-green cat-eyes looked at no-one in particular. Even without alcohol, the large man had pushed himself t the point of appearing hung-over.

          Wade shrugged, while scratching a leathery-ear with a scar-ravaged hand. "I could put in a word for you,” he rasped quietly to Rai, “with John, at the Jiffy Lube. It's pay-per-car and catch-as-catch-can, but I made some extra dough souping up a customer's street-racer."

          "You know about cars?" I asked the former fencing teacher, while Rai nodded his broad face thoughtfully. My eyes probably twinkled with excitement that one of my comrades might actually share one of my hobbies.

          "Not really." Wade shook his head as he turned his dull metal-grey eyes to me. "It was like Gerri's plants, or the erasing tracks thing. I just sort of knew that I could tinker with the engine."

          "Really?" Tallwind almost always sounded like he was sneering. "You just knew?"

          Wade shrugged with some comment about one of his dreams having given him the idea. However, by then, I had returned to my internal musing, so I did not really hear exactly what Wade said. I could not decide if I was more irritated that the supposedly college educated guy had magic to help him with cars and I did not, or that he was setting for whatever trickled his way as a grease-monkey. Even without a legitimate ID, Wade must have been able to make way better money somewhere. I did decide that I was absolutely not jealous, though… No, really… At least, not enough for anyone to notice. Plus, the money thing just boiled down to the same as Tallwind, as long as Wade made rent, I had no ground for expressing my opinion.

          Even so, my jaw tightening reaction, help motivate me on my way. Unfortunately, the day had chosen to be disappointingly grey and drizzly. I had some luck with my Festiva’s radio, pop music and relentless commercials gave me something suitably innocuous to redirect my anger towards. Plus, I felt a little better for the distraction from my other inner puzzling. Sorting the pieces had started to get fun, however the process always wound up sidetracking me, and I wanted to stay pointed at my first goal of the day, at least.

          Most of my Sunday was spent back in the hushed interior of the Athens Public Library. As I had entered, I swore to myself that getting my own internet connected device was paramount, yet I still forgot to reassign the goal’s priority in my notebook, by the time I had found a seat. At least, my day spent studying mixology benefitted from the actual books found within the library.

          I could not tell if the librarians were actually smiling more openly at me, at first. Then I concluded that in addition to becoming a regular, I was also actually reading the books, a major plus to any other bibliophile. Also, not having two or more quirk looking associates in tow must have made me look more stable.

          I did break from my cram-session long enough for lunch and a little light shopping. The Kroger salad-bar carried the underlying artificially which I was coming to identify as genetically modified, as apposed to the more aggressive _yuck_ of chemically enhanced. The shirts and pants I bought were suitably akin to the looks the other Elements bartenders had worn. The research and close increased my confidence of getting the job, later in the evening.

 

Diner was fajitas again, “chef” Wade knew his way around a grill, however he was not very cylindrically imaginative. At least, both chicken and flank-steak were choices along with the grilled veg.

          Passing the wine bottle to Tallwind, Tegan mentioned, "So, I seem to be persuading people, a lot." She pointedly did not look around as she started to assemble a fajita from the fixings on her plate. "Like, more than by just reasoning with them. I tested it. A couple of times. And got people to do pretty much whatever I wanted…” She rearranged her fajita, rather than look up from the finished product. “Anyone else getting the same effect?"

          “Dudes and… sturdy women, right?” Tallwind’s grin was smarmy.

          “No.” Tegan just huffed and rolled her sharp-green eyes. “at least two women were in couples with _men_. And one was a mom.”

          "So… What, like you can mind-control people?" Gavin’s massive-pebbly hands paused, fajita halfway to his mouth.

          Tegan shook her head, sending deep-red hair dancing, chewed, swallowed, and replied, "No. It's not like I know what they are thinking, or that I can put thoughts into their heads. It's more like…well, if I really want someone to do something and I have spent a few minutes near them, then all I have to do is ask and they pretty much do whatever it is. They act like they just want to make me happy."

          "Okay," I was seated on the floor across from Tegan and Tallwind, "sounds like spontaneous hypnosis, more than telepathy.” I tugged an earlobe, thoughtfully. “Do you need to keep concentrating on the target, to get them to keep doing whatever?" I flapped my hand vaguely. "And can you really be sure those women weren’t bi?”

          Pink bloomed subtly on Tegan’s cheeks, causing the green of her eyes to pop, "They acted totally straight, with everyone else in the store. Especially, their male partners" She tucked auburn tresses behind her tapered left-ear. "As for the other part, the effect seems to wear off, after they have been away from me for a few minutes. It lasts longer the less complicated I make my suggestions, but still no more than ten or fifteen minutes, as far as I can tell. And I don't seem to have to concentrate on them, nor do they seem to need eye contact."

          Wade sipped some wine, then asked Tegan, "So, do you feel anything when this happens?"

          I considered again whether I cared enough to buy some wine glasses for our collective. It was sad every time that one of us sipped wine from a coffee mug or juice tumbler. On the other hand, it did look entertainingly silly, when one of my housemates was doing it.

          "It makes me feel…" Tegan demurely closed her eyes, fur better contemplation, "well, normal, I guess. Like it’s meant to be happening.” Her eyes opened and she shrugged. “It’s not like the plant growing thing, that was draining. Like the opposite of the weird vitality boost.”

          Which was all that was needed for the conversation to spread to everyone wanting to “do more research” into the weird-vitality, that evening at Elements. It seemed as if I might have been the only one to notice the flimsiness of the excuses to feel more of the blissful rush. Similarly, I did not think that any of the others clued into the conversational shift having gone exactly when and how the fastidious lass had wanted. All of our previous discussions clicked together in my head, around the moments where Tegan had made the definitive, albeit often passive, decision of next moves. So, even though the shapely lady honestly seemed to have just become aware of her powers of suggestion, it seemed as if she had been using them all along. I pursed my lips in concentrated resolve to become more aware of my opinions and when they were being manipulated.

          The novelty of Rai’s participation, brought me out of my own head, for a while. Whatever calculations had been clogging the linebacker-sized engineers auditory processors had apparently cleared out for a moment. Which did mean that the entirety of at least two previous conversations had to be repeated. In spite of Rai having been present at all previous discussions, he needed the weird vitality and related emotional flavors explained, again.

          "That sounds like what happened with me and the kid the other day." Rai eventually contributed in his relieved low-velvety voice, slit minty-eyes fixed at a middle space. "I was afraid it was 'cause she was a kid… but, she didn't show any of the emotions that you all mentioned." Confusion had replaced relief, as he remained crouched by the living room's picture window, holding a plate the size of his outstretched hand in his left, while scooping up fajitas with his right.

          "Was that the only time that you noticed the effect?" Gavin stood just out of the way where the kitchen and living room doorway effectively met the hallway to the rear of the house. The rough-skinned fellow proffered to stand, as soon as his plate was cleared, and he was waiting to make sure everyone else had finished their plates, before going back for thirds.

          Rai chewed and thought, triangular cat-ears flexed low and to the sides, "Yeah, I guess it also happened a little while later, when I passed a homeless dude. At the time, I guess I just thought that the hunger was awake, so I was just targeting the weak."

          I sat up and blinked in pleased wonder. Since Rai never seemed to be listening, I had been thinking of him as emotionless. The empathy and caring in Panthro’s tone was reassuring, until I considered that he might only feel towards normal humans. Since Rai certainly had yet to express any such connection with any of the rest of us, who had actually shared a life altering experience with him.

          Tallwind’s fork clattered to his plate, so that he could snap pencil-y fingers with epiphany, "That's why you've been hole’ up in the garage. You've been avoidin’ the temptation to eat someone."

          Rai nodded confessionally and did not meet anyone's eyes for a while. Most of us found either the situation or Rai appearance mildly amusing. Except for Sol, who remained serious. The monochromatic lass even went so far as to lean further back into shadowy front-door alcove, to be less observed.

          I noticed, though, and remembered once more, the taste of the perfume-flavor of the apple-juice as I looked up to see the bottle-blond nurse being pulled limply away from sickly-pale hands and the mouths within them. I especially recalled how revitalized Sol had been afterwards. I scowled at having agreed to share a living space with such a being. Then, I reflected on how funny Rai’s embarrassment, over a potentially similar uncontrolled instinct, had just seemed. I took a breath and relaxed, I would have to settle just how subjective I really thought the morality was, before I could effectively judge my circumstantial allies. Meanwhile, the others had kept talking.

          "So," Wade sat lotus style with his plate in his lap and asked Rai, "did they have anything in common emotionally?" He gestured towards Rai, with the fork in his scarred hand.

          Rai looked blank, iridescent-eyes blinking very slowly.

          "Well…" I interrupted, as a memory-piece popped up, "the kid was, uh, crying up a storm, right?" I knelt closest to Rai, using the other corner of the picture window's sill to rest my mug of wine.

          "Yeah," Tegan added, coming back into the room from the kitchen, where she had just dropped off her dirty utensils in the dishwasher, "and a homeless guy was likely to be pretty miserable. She turned to Rai, "You probably crave sadness."

          I nodded, swallowed, and added, "Yeah, Just 'cause we found three emotions that suited us, doesn't mean there can't be others."

          Rai agreed that the new theory made sense. Although the big guy still seemed as skeptical as I had been days earlier, like everything might still just be a hallucination. I could only look at my fajita and shake my head in bemusement. Could Rai really have not paid attention to the “we’re all spirit-touched, now” aspects of the last few days?

More disappointing was that I could tell that Rai really was not that far behind the acceptance curve, compared to my other housemates. Were they actively trying to deny the fae-riddled nature of the world, or just incapable of coping with it? Did they somehow have more, or less, of their original human selves, keeping them from accepting their new dualistic natures? Regardless, why were each of them not more interested in finding out more about their magical abilities? Even if it was all imaginary, the supernatural elements were too cool to be ignored.

          I mused over the rest of the discussion about misery as a fourth source of the weird vitality. So, I only vaguely registered that Sol ultimately suggested that O’Bleness Memorial’s chapel tended to have some grieving and anguished people. Not, apparently, as many as the number of terrified individuals, though. So, the tiny pearl-white lass and the towering ebony fellow headed off towards the hospital.

          By the time our dinner was over and Gavin and Tegan were cleaning up the dishes, my wandering worries had once more clustered around my imminent bartending audition. With my mixology studies fresh in mind, my concerns had shifted more to my group. Since, Gavin was trying out as a bouncer, he would be at the door all night. However, Wade, Tegan, Tallwind, and Runner were all coming, to “learn” more about the weird vitality. Just like at the Union, my cohorts Masques would all look to old for Elements. Plus, Elements was aiming for trendy and, as far as I could tell, I was the only one of us to have invested in more than two sets of clothes and beyond Wal-Mart's bargain prices, to boot. On the other hand, it could look good that Gavin and I were bringing in more paying customers. As long as their so-called experimentations did not make them high to the point of troublemaking.

 

The solid blanket of clouds remained from the day, however the precipitation had ended, at some point after sunset. The unseasonably warm air smelled more like autumn than it had all week, so a nice muting of the odors from exhaust fumes, ozone, or whatever other man-made byproducts normally hung about. The electric lighting of Athens made the shadows almost look like plastic. At least, by the time our party exited Elements, the temperature had dropped to something more suitable to mid-November.

          At the night club, my possibly supernatural fortune favored me. Dave, the manager, had picked Sunday as the slowest night, for easier observing. Which meant that my comrades had less normal people “test” subjects with which to make trouble. Plus, as additional clients, my allies provided more opportunities for me to demonstrate my drink serving skills. Although, that did also mean that Tallwind made sure to order screwy old-school cocktails, within Dave’s hearing—Pick Squirrel, Brandy Alexander, that sort of thing. My luck held, though, since the library mixology books had largely been from that era.

          My co-bartender was decent dude by the name of Justin—around twenty-three or four, with dark overly-product ladened wavy-hair.

When I shook the lad’s hand, I explained, "Hey, man, uh, nice to meet you. Um, like, I really want this job and I'm a little nervous. So, I hope you don't mind if I'm not too chatty tonight."

          Justin just nodded and said it would all be cool. Then he answered any questions I had through the night and mostly just focused on his customers.

          After a couple of hours, Dave called me into his office. My mind was throbbing a little, its chaotic composition had been hard pressed to keep focused on making the right drinks for the right people. Plus, I really did want the job, so I kept second guessing what would make the best impression. Which accounts for why I heard more the gist of Dave’s review, than the actual words. It amounted to something about "already having lots of bar staff" and an implication that the manager thought that Tallwind's stunt orders had been staged in order to make me look good, since I had been so prepared. So, I very much felt the brush-off coming.

          My racing mind came across Tegan’s earlier tale of faery hypnotism and I latched onto every aspect of watch she had said as strong as I could. I figured, worse case meant that I still did not get hired. I grinned, with pride had having recalled the magic option in the first place. Unlike my housemates I was willing to embrace the supernatural aspect of my new life, I just had trouble remembering to do so.

          Dave paused and looked a little confused at my smile.

          "Well, Dave, I certainly appreciate your position." I concentrated on my desire for employment and tried to mentally tap into the lingering sense of the weird vitality. "However, I have to think that you must have space for a go-getter, like myself, on your roster. Especially, because you spent the time for this trial run, in the first place.” Without quite knowing where the words were coming from, I saw that I was hitting the right notes, to keep Dave interested. “If you really were fully staffed and satisfied, then you could have much more easily turned me away, when I asked for the job. And then I could have simply gone to the Union, or one of the many other clubs in town.” I felt my tongue , throat, and posture move in subtle uncontrolled ways, making me seem more confident and believable. ”Except, of course then, you would be without my impressive services." My solid smile belied the odd deflation sensation the I felt somewhere note precisely in my head or chest. "Plus, while I won't work for minimum wage, I also don't see any need to put you through any extra paperwork. Like W2s, or employee insurance, or the like."

          Dave nodded appreciatively, smiling somewhat distractedly, and over the next ten or fifteen minutes he and I negotiated terms. The draining effect had not continued throughout, yet my convincing loquaciousness did. I doubted that my hypnotic efforts matched up to what Tegan had described, though. Even with saying just the right thing in just the right way, I still had to provide justifications for my positions. I imagined that my auburn-haired associate could probably have gotten Dave to sign over the bar , with half as much effort. Still and all, I left with a sweet deal, that I was sure no mere mortal could have secured. Not only did I wrangle five-bucks an hour (nearly a dollar more than Ohio’s minimum wage for tipped employees), I bypassed new-guy-worst-shift status, so I would get part-time shifts pretty much whenev4er I asked. Plus, I now that I knew how persuasive I could be, I would be making mad tip money.

          With my needs sorted, I was eager to experiment with how far I could go. I pulled the same concentration trick and pitched, “So, abut my buddy, Hank.” The correct name came out smoothly, even though I had absolutely been thinking Gavin. "He's clearly intimidating, enough to work the door. Heck, must of the customer demo would do what he says, just 'cause he reminds 'em of their dad." Dave chuckled appreciatively. "Plus, we're roommates, so you'll always be able to get a hold of both of us, as long as you reach one of us."

          Dave rubbed his nose with one knuckle and thought a moment, "You negotiating his deal too., then."

          "Naw," I shook my head and waved my right hand in a wipe before me, "his money's his responsibly. I'd just like to be able to give the big guy the thumbs up, when I step out of here." I had felt the deflation-draining effect more acutely and the deftness of tongue far less, so I opted to not push as hard as taking responsibly for Gavin’s income.

          Of course, when the bargaining had ended and Dave shook my hand over our agreed terms, I felt the anticipated surge thwang-thrum sensation. After exiting the office, but before going back to finish out my shift, I paused to jot the nuances in my notepad. This time the sensation was stronger than when Dave had agreed to give me the trial, yet not as potent as my meeting with Peter Dionysus, although somehow deeper and more resonant than that meeting or my car deal with Jack Schmidt. Additionally, this sensations mix of anxious obligation verses soothing expectation was heavily weighted to the latter.

          Resolving that deal making was the shape of that puzzle piece was good. Although, my notes had sprouted many question marks of what connected to the piece. What was the mean, purpose, or side-effects of the deal making? I considered researching the answers in Sheaves & Leaves Law section, yet was admittedly intimidated by the dense legalese I had encountered, in the few books that I had perused therein. Maybe I could pay Dionysus for more tutoring sessions, or better still catch Rosa on a break.

Just thinking about the spirit-touched I had met at the unusual bookstore made me feel better; like I was not alone in a group of others as, or more, clueless than myself. Although, on another level the empty-not-quite-hunger feeling had re-grown, in the back of my thoughts. It was the peculiar yearning-malaise, which the weird vitality had countered. So, I decided to see if there was any difference to encountering pre-existing anger versus purposely upsetting someone.

I short changed the next customer that paid with a twenty. "Her you go, sir, eight, nine, and ten."

          "What're you trying to pull!" The young man's immediate indignation felt like a warm honey-scented breeze. "I gave you a twenty."

          I raised my eyebrows and blinked at the customer. "I don't think so. I'm sure it was a ten."

          "Look dude, I only had twenties when I came in here, gimme the rest of my change." The man flushed slightly, although retained most of his composure.

          My eyes twinged as they dilated a fraction and the influx of the weird vitality flowing into the rear of my mind. The customers contained anger was like the smell of a lover and the promise of warm food on a cold day; pleasant, yet not really fulfilling.

          I pushed a bit more, raising my voice to match the patrons challenging tone. “Who do you think you are, tryin’ to tell me my job!”

          That did it, the la’s jaw and fists clenched, the actual gathering in of his desire to rail and argue was like electricity or caffeine to my spirit. My own emotions did not alter, though in those couple of seconds I felt more confident and carefree. Thanks to Tegan’s advise from the night before, I was even able to keep the intoxicating side effects to a minimum.

          Then, I caught Justin taking notice, out of the corner of my slightly blurring vision. So, I backed-off. "You know what," I raised my hands in surrender, to the upset customer, "You're probably right." I handed over the remaining change and tried to sound sincere. "I’m very sorry for the inconvenience. I will pay closer attention to what I’m doing."

          The guy accepted my apology and the heady sensation of his anger at me dried up like a faucet being closed. I still felt a little empty-yearning, though, not as urgent as when I had left Dave’s office. Even if I had been willing to risk my new job to get more of the weird-vitality from the target, I needed to prove to myself that I could control the urges.

          Closing time came and I collected my under-the-table wages into my pockets alongside my tips. Then my housemates and I headed home. Normally, Dave would only pay weekly—even for the cash and carry employees—however, my special negotiation efforts had garnered me a pay-as-I-go plan. Gavin had been stuck with the standard deal and would have to wait for the following Sunday to see his first payroll. Dave also told me and Gavin to be back on Wednesday by ten.

          Runner and Tallwind had departed just past midnight, so I got to chauffeur Tegan Wade, and Gavin home, in my Festiva. The talk, in the car, was centered around the weird vitality slim-pickings. Even so, everyone did express some success, with Gavin being the apparent winner.

          “It was pretty easy, ay the door.” The earthen fellow shrugged. “A bunch of the kids are already scared coming in, ‘cause of the fake IDs.”

          “ _You_ let underage kids in?” Tegan sounded far more incredulous that Gavin in particular broke the law, more than the law itself being broken.

          Another squared-off shrug. “John, the head bouncer, said that if we didn’t let in the undergrads, the club would never make a profit.” The sound of unglazed tiles rubbing together turned out to be Gavin’s hand on he cheek. “So, I stick to kids that I’m sure are at least eighteen. I mean, I went drinkin’ at that age too, so what’s the big deal, really?”

          “I don’t get it, though.” Wade raspy bemusement came from the back seat. “I tried lurking everywhere, even right near the entrance. If they were so scared coming in, why did I get so little reaction when I stepped out of the shadows?”

          I rolled my eyes and sighed, “Because they were afraid of getting caught lying to get in. Once they were in, there wasn’t any reason to be afraid…. Unless you pretended to be a narcotics officers.” I grinned maliciously. “That would have probably scared the crap out of half of the clientele.”

          My observation was meant with noncommittal silence.

          Falling asleep was getting easier each day. My roommates were snoring before my mattress’s air compressor had finished pumping. For me, I was physically fatigued from such a long day. Plus, thoughts of my pocket full of cash made a very reassuring mental blanket.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:


	8. Chapter 8

_Zoom…                   rise…                      float…_

_swoop…        hover… glide… ease.._

_whoosh…                                               drift…_

_CRASH_

Day 7: Monday, November 14th

 _BANG! BANG! BANG!_ “Get up! Come Outside!” Tallwind’s gruff order was barely muffled by the bedroom door, on which he pounded.

My grains of displeasure mingled with my roommates , as Wade, Gavin, and I roused ourselves. The dim pre-dawn light outside confirmed that I had been sleeping four barely more than two-hours, easily six-hours short of the wake-up I had planned. Even the firefighter-trained always-ready Gavin grumbled as we joined everyone else out on the frosty front lawn.

Five of were in our sleeping attire and jackets. Of course that meant all, save for me, were in the same clothes which they wore throughout the day, since most of them had not bought extra outfits, let alone pajama as I had done. At least, Tegan’s jeans did not look slept in, like the rest of our housemates. Technically, Runner and Tallwind were garbed under the same criteria, however they had not yet slept.

          "Hey," Wade asked, as we filed out of the front-door, "Where's Solanna?"

          Tegan squinted sleepy-eyes and shrugged, "She wasn't in our room.” Slipped into her denim coat. ”Does anyone even know if she came home last night?"

          The group’s eyes turned to the plodding giant-cat fellow, as he saw Sol last, as far as we knew. Rai shook his head a little, and offered no more than, “Nope."

By then we were rubbing our eyes and shivering, in the yard, and the conversation abruptly shifted to the reason for our rude awakenings. The sky was still a blanket of clouds, tinted rose and salmon by the rising sun. The clouds were also thinner than the day before, so the dawn light was reasonably bright. Combined with my too little sleep, my eyes ached with the daylight, the chill air, and at what they saw. In the dark, my party of four just parked in the drive and used the side door without noticing the rest of the exterior. Tallwind and Runner, on the other hand, had only just returned home, minutes prior to knocking on our doors. The front of our collective's little ranch-style had been heavily graffiti covered.

          Short-lived clouds of breath-vapor plumed, into the crisp November morning, from many of our gaping mouths. I assumed that Tallwind was calling on his private-eye experience, as he squatted around the shrubbery, squinting at the ground and lawn. The rest of stood dumbstruck absorbing the image before us, our suburban house-front was "decorated" with giant crimson-penises and other lewdness. Amid the swear words, the phrase "HOBBS GO HOME!!!" stood out, as unfamiliar language. My blood ran colder than the weather made it.

          After a minute or so, burn-scarred sleuth proclaimed, "At least two people, maybe three or four. And they used True Red spray paint." The tips of his long fingers pinched a white handkerchief, used to hold an empty aerosol-can.

          The beady-eyed Runner and I, possibly a couple of the others, sighed with relief. Assume they, like me, had imagined the vandals had used blood. Which was troubling, for why should that have ever been an idea, let alone my first. On the other hand, blood would have been easier to wash away.

          While Tallwind widened his search, pacing outward from the base of the house, the rest of us had found our voices, "Who did this?", "Who would want to?", "Why would they want to?", "What's a Hobb?", "How long must it have taken?", and the like. It was a futile exercise, of which we all quickly grew weary and the cold certainly encourage our cessation. Tallwind wordlessly limped off into the neighborhood, regularly checking the paved road, as if following a trail. By the time I thought to point out to Gavin that the wrinkly detective was without a buddy, we had all returned inside and started showers, getting dressed, and eating. I sighed at the missed opportunity to have sent the big orange fellow off on what was likely to be a fruitless meander. Then, closest we got to our regular breakfast confab, was to have an overall relay about how quickly we could get the house repainted. So, I wound up forgetting to try and send someone off to “guard” Tallwind.

          It was Runner who offered, "Rrr not surere I can afford the urr paint and rrirr stuff. But urmph, I know ergh Milt said hrmph he’s be willin uurr to rererepaint the house.” Broad hairy-shoulders shrugged. “I’ll rrar help too, aftererer I get some rrr sleep.”

          For the chance to avoid such a long, laborious, and dull task, I was quick to propose, "I got a few hundred bucks that I can put towards the painting supplies, now. As long as I get reimbursed at rent time."

A delicate, almost defused, _thrum_ settled into me, as my associates acknowledged their agreements. Then Rai just returned to the garage, apparently having found whatever Suzuki parts he had been needing, the day before. Runner retired to his room. Wade, Tegan, and Gavin each headed off claiming intent to learn what they could of hobbs, before going to their jobs. Gavin still doing handyman stuff for old ladies, until he could collect some Elements remunerations.

          I actually smacked my palm to my forehead, while I was dressing for the day. I had been so tired and distracted that I now found myself heading alone to Lowe’s Home Improvement. If I had been thinking, I would have pressed ganged Gavin into carrying the heavy paint cans, as least. It did not help that in addition to my lack of sleep, I also heard Rosa’s warning, to not draw mortal attention, echoing in my head. Plus, I really did have some pride in where I lived and could not feel particularly comfortable knowing the graffiti was in place.

          There was an upside, though, in that I got to select the paint without having to consult a committee. The rental had been dingy-white siding with sun-faced-turquoise trim, which I replaced with cheerful pale-yellow and summery green respectively. The DIY building supplies gave me idea for deterring future vandalisms, so I also picked-up some one-by-fours and three-inch nails. Then, since I was awake and out anyway, I swung by Wal-Mart and purchased a small alarm-clock/TV/radio/emergency services tracker, a bunch more salt, and a cheap track-phone. I pouted and sighed as I handed the last of my first night's pay over, to the polite yet dead-eyed cashier.

          By the time I got back from my errands, Rai and his Suzuki had left, so I was able to park in the garage—relieved to have my Festiva closed off from potential vandalizations. Runner was also up and went to wake Tallwind, as soon as he saw the painting supplies. The saggy-skinned chap grouse about not enough sleep, yet did follow Runner outside and got to work.

          I made myself drink some of the chemically-fowl instant coffee that Tallwind or Gavin could somehow stomach. Thus, caffeinated I was able to press ahead with a few more chores. Firstly, activating my new phone and adding its number to our collective’s list, on the fridge. Then, I performed a salt ritual, which I had discovered in the book that Tegan had half-jokingly given to me; a lot of floor scrubbing and sweeping the salt out, in a particular manner. Lastly, I used the tools Rai had left in the garage to cut the one-by-fours into shorter lengths and pound the nails through them.

          The salt ritual claimed to both clear out any bad mojo, as well as ward against malignant spirits entering. I could not be sure if it was my caffeine wearing off, or if I actually felt a deflating-draining sensation, similar to when I had manipulated Dave. It made me feel less silly to believe the latter, since that meant something was really happening.

          Once my two comrades were done painting, I would take the boards with their irregular rows of jutting nails and plant them in the bushes around our place. With the sharp nails pointing up and a light covering of dirt, they made an fairly obscured trap. Anyone getting close enough to spray-paint the building would inevitably drive two-inched worth of galvanized ouch up into their foot.

          In the meantime, I got some more sleep, although found myself too restless (probably thanks to the caffeine) to do more than get another couple of hours rest. After I woke up for the second time that day, I tried another weird vitality experiment. Plugging in my new 5” TV/radio/Alarm-clock, I surfed the very limited non-cable channels. I eventually found one of those daytime talk-show/white-trash-tragedy-fests. When the chairs started flying, I did my best to soak in the rage from the recorded program. It was fruitless, as I had suspected would be the case, So I at least felt smart for positing the correct hypothesis.

          Tallwind came in, for a glass of water, just as I was kneeling over the small device, as if I were religiously laying on hands. "Uh," the gnarled fellow asked, "what’re you doin’?"

          My cheeks warmed with embarrassment, until I had an inspiration and turned the flush to indignation."Me?! What are _you_ doing? There's no way the house is repainted yet!"

          My ad hoc experiment worked, to get Tallwind riled up quick. However, I was just as unable to access any sense of the self-proclaimed detective’s splutter of rage, as I had been the television’s. On the other hand, it was all I could do to keep from laughing out loud at the grumpy chap’s reaction. So, I seriously considered just leaving it there. Then I reconsidered, as I would have to share living quarters with the potentially vindictive Tallwind for some time to come.

          I raised my hands, patted the air placating, and smiled, "I'm just messing with you dude… Well, not _just_ messing." I waved to the tiny TV, "I was, uh, just checking to see if emotions had to be live and in person. They do." I shrugged my right shoulder. "Then, you came in and I wanted to try it on another spirit-touched. It also didn’t work." I screwed up my face as I thought about the implications of what I had just verified.

          Tallwind nodded grudging approval with his loose-skinned face. "Makes sense." He gulped down the water for which he had come in, in the first place. "Ya know, if you're lookin’ for lots of reliably angry people, you should go hang at the airport or DMV."

          I rolled my amber-eyes and said "Thanks, I'll think about it." And Tallwind grunted a suit-yourself noise and went back outside. I regretted, a little, having not yet placed the spiked boards.

          Honestly, stick-finger’s big guess for finding angry people was the DMV?! I have never been angry or seen anyone else upset at a Department of Motor Vehicles. Impatient, worried, despairing, absolutely, bored beyond comprehension, you better believe it, but never anger. Plus, the airport was only a twenty minute drive and not exactly a TSA nightmare. From what I had seen years ago, the little local air-strip rarely had many people at any one time, to be made irritated by delays or mishandled luggage. On the other hand, Tallwind may have been trying to set me up for potential scrutiny by government officials.

         

Since I had been home anyway, I prepared a couple of roast chickens and root vegetables for dinner. Runner and Tallwind had finished the painting admirably, by the time the sun had set and our housemates returned from their activities.

          As our group assumed its typical sprawl, in the furniture-free living room, Tegan's breathy voice was eager, "I talked to a few people at Ariadne's Sheaves & Leaves, today.” She wore a new, fully buttoned, flannel shirt (green and yellow, instead of green and brown), its unflattering nature still incapable of countering her figure and her magical cosmetics had adjusted to insure perpetual coordination. “Mostly, I just sort of got my bearings, you know?" Emerald eyes sought out some understanding of how overwhelming the magical location could be.

          Gavin and I provided supportive nods. None of the others in the room had spent any serious time in the bookstore, let alone the otherworldly rare-books section.

          "I learned a couple of things, though." Tegan’s freckle-dusted cheeks dimpled, as she smiled at what little encouragement she had received. "Like the emotion gathering thing is called a bunch of stuff, but mostly either threshing or winnowing."

          "Urmph like forrrr grain rrerr harvesting?" Runner rumbled, as he slid his back down his favored eating corner.

          "I guess so," Than tilted her head to the side, in a quick half shrug, which sent her deep-crimson hair to swaying, "sort of. Apparently, if you just go about it like we do, it's winnowing. But, if you intentionally provoke the person, it's threshing…" her red brows arched with uncertainty, over her sparkly-green orbs. "I, also got the feeling that emotions aren’t quite the right way to think about what we’re tapping into, but the guy I was talking to had friends that said he had to go."

          Tegan cut up some chicken and vegetables. "Anyway, someone else told me that 'hob', with one ‘B’, is a derogatory term used for weaker spirit-touched. Sometimes it's like peasant or lackey, only ruder, but mostly it's used for animals." Her crystal eyes flashed. "So whoever tagged our house, must know what we've become and not like it much." Tegan tended to forget to put her silky hair up before starting to eat, so as she leaned forward to keep her fork over the plate in her lap, a shiny auburn curtain draped her delicately tapered face. "Oh," Tegan raise her flattened hand, palm to her, obscuring her red petal mouth as she spoke while chewing potato, "and around here it's more common to say fae or changeling, than spirit-touched."

          I squinted bitterly at the snub. I had already provided that last bit of information and had clearly been ignored. Now, I was certain, all of the others would remember what pretty Tegan said, in a way that they would never do for me. Before I could form a suitable barb about the phenomena, I realized that Tegan’s words had generated agitated conversation around the room.

          The revelation that the vandals must have known of our fae status had put the household more on edge than their usual low level paranoia. I shrugged, “I don’t like that we might still be targets. But, at least, if the culprits know about hobs, then they must be aware of the faery world in general. So, we know that we can deal with them on that level, without risking revealing the Masque or drawing Keeper attentions.”.

          The group was not see easily reassured. So, the seven of us (Sol still had yet to reappear) wound up agreeing to stand watches, in pairs, throughout the night. I volunteered for the first shift, as it matched up best with what I would be working at Elements. Svelt Runner joined me, mumble-gargled something about being able to sleep anytime.

          With watches settled the conversation turned to more mundane topics, such as Tallwind’s announcement, "Yeah, I took a paying gig. I'm a barker for The Pizza Palace." His hard mud-brown eyes stared challenge to anyone interested in teasing him.

          Most of my allies just blinked dumbly at the wrinkled man's choice of words. Wade scratched the back of his neck and looked at Tallwind, "Wait a minute, _barker_? You mean you’re one of those guys that holds a sign, at the side of the road, to advertise the pizza joint?"

          Tallwind simply nodded one stiff nod.

          "Oooo!" Runner’s beady-eyes twinkled mischievously. "Urr Does that rrmgh mean that you rrr get to wearrrr a costume?"

          "Fine." Tallwind's eyes and shoulder's drooped, accentuating his loose skin even more. "Yeah, I gotta dance around in a mascot outfit, shaped like a slice of pizza with a crown. And, yeah, they want me to twirl a Pizza Palace sign. Okay? Go ahead and have fun." Hands with fingers splayed like wheel-spokes were tossed out in disgusted surrender.

.         So, we indulged the fellow—for over fifteen laughter and mockery filled minutes. Just imagining the stiff-sided bag-of-wrinkles in a smelly mascot costume kept me amused for the sheer absurd indignation. Although, I was yet again dumbfounded that one of my allies would even consider so lowly a position. It made me seriously wonder if Tallwind had really ever done or learned anything, in his life before signing his name over to Anwynn, let alone function as an actual private investigator.

         

It was 1:32 AM, according to the clock in my new TV/radio/etc., when Gavin and Tallwind woke the whole house. Since none of my housemates had seen fit to express any amount of appreciation or interest in my mini-media center, I had moved the device to be bedside for my own convenience. My responding groan to Gavin was angry, as I had barely been asleep for thirty-minutes

          That said, I was impressed with quickly I rallied and brushed off yet another rude awakening. My own sentry duty had been mind-numbingly dull. Runner had insisted that he wanted to “patrol” the backyard, while I surveyed the front through the living room’s picture-window. Even my TV/radio had trouble keeping me up, I would no sooner find a catchy song or show, than an endless litany of commercials would crush my interest. Regardless, the rush of something happening on the middle watch had me alert and active in no time flat.

          Tallwind and Gavin gathered the rest of us to the living room, where their third watch-mate waited. Rai stood passively staring out the big front window, while the other six of us clustered around. I concentrated on my luminous aura and provided enough light to see everyone, yet not enough to draw attention from the street.

          Gavin's polish-marble eye's, grey in my barrowed moonlight, were a little wild, "I saw them smash our mailbox." A think rectangular finger pointed to the front curb and the small spray of debris. "I heard a car, with blaring music, coming down the street. And there was some odd banging, every so often." He was making gestures with his flat hands as if mimicking a car’s movement, then shrugged. "I assumed, the car was backfiring, but check it out anyway. Just as I got to the window, they were passing out front." He wagged his blocky-finger at the lawn again and swallowed, seeming to decide to continue, in spite of knowing how it was going to sound.

          "The car was a dark blue, or black, hatchback, beater of some kind. It was full of, like six or eight, of them. Some were hanging out of the windows on either side and a couple had baseball bats.” Gavin mimed gripping a bat in both hands. “They were playing mailbox-baseball, that was the banging. They smashed ours to bits, as they sped by." Gavin made the exploding gesture with his hands.

The blocky man swallowed once more convincing himself to say what he believed he had seen. "The thing is, they weren't like people. They sort of looked like frat kids in 'Reds hats. But, I got a good look in the street light. They had sort of lumpy faces and their mouths were too big and full of really sharp teeth… and the hats were dripping red. I'm sure it was blood."

          "Redcaps," I blurted reflexively, thinking of a Lit-class that I had taken which had focused a lot on violence in classic fairytales.

          I was too curious about the new vandalism, to acknowledge Gavin's odd reticence to describe the perpetrators. It was as if the rocky bodybuilder had been asleep for the last week, or maybe had suffered a blow to his squared noggin. The description of the vandals could have been a cross between Gavin and Rai and was certainly no more disturbing than Sol’s appearance. Part of me guessed that Gavin may have been surprised that other changelings might be mean and nasty. Although, that was hard for me to actually fathom, since the graffiti had clearly not been a friendly or kind gesture.

          Meanwhile, most of my thoughts involved the street. Some of our neighbors had gone into their yards, surveying the overall damage to the neighborhood. So, I slipped on my Doc Martens and coat and followed suit. As far as I could see the neighbors where all normal mortals, however I still wanted to find out if they knew anything useful.

          I was not sure if un-changed non-fae people could see my faery-light radiance, however was not interested in experimenting with it at that moment. So, I mentally damped the light as low as possible, and hoped that the street lights would obscure what was left.

          The nearest neighbor, actually standing outside of his doorway, was kitty-corner from my collective’s rental. The man was in his forties, balding, wearing a bathrobe over plane t-shirt and sweat-pants, with slippers for his feet. He was too infuriated to notice the near freezing temperature, while he stood over his own demolished mailbox. The box had clearly been a cheap model and was in no way salvageable.

          I hoped my grinned seemed neighborly and sympathetic, as I reached out my tan-hand, rather than predatory. I sensed the guy’s fury, as if I were a high-soaring eagle and he a limping rabbit in an open field. I introduced myself, "Hi there, my name's Tommy. Me and my roommates just moved in, across the street." I nodded to our freshly painted rental and a few of my housemates, milling about on our lawn.

          Balding-neighbor-guy shook my hand briefly, "Larry."

          I felt the strongest rush of weird vitality that I had yet experienced. If I had not been ready for it, I would have gone blissfully glazed and tried hugging the rest of the anger-fuel energy out of Larry. As it was, I clamped down fast and tight on my desire for more, as soon as I had started feeling the rush. I was fairly certain that Larry had not noticed anything odd about my reaction, although, I did make a mental note to test if physical contact was key to winnowing or threshing or whatever Tegan had said to call it.

          "So," I placed my hands in my jacket pockets and glanced pointedly at Larry's shattered mailbox, "this happen a lot?"

          Larry glowered, "This was my third freaking box this year." He shook his head, "I want to get one made of concrete, but who has the time to pour that out?..." another shake, a bit more defeated. "It would teach the bastards a lesson though, next time they take a bat to it."

          I tentatively consum…winnowed, that is, more of the man's anger-based excess energy. I told myself that it was not a matter of succumbing to potentially addictive desires, rather I needed to prove that I could winnow the weird vitality, without over doing it. Plus, I needed to confirm that I could maintain a conversation, while doing so. Not to mention wondering if I had a saturation point, like being to full to eat any more.

"Hmm, my roommate is pretty handy, he might be able to help with a new mailbox." I figured Gavin, Rai, or Tallwind could probably serve. I tried too draw the fellow out more, "So, three times, huh?"

          "Yeah," Larry's nice hot anger began turning to slushy regret, "This neighborhood started going downhill two years ago. I used to know all my neighbors, but they all got out and the renters rarely stay fore than a few months." He looked at me a little guilty and shifted the topic. "The worst thing is, it always seems to be just the same bunch of college assholes."

          "Really?" I feigned surprise. "And it's been going on this long?"

          Larry shrugged and started pushing the remains of his mailbox into a pile with his feet. "They live somewhere in the area, but I don't know where exactly. The cops know, but they never seem to do anything. And the assholes seem to be getting bolder and more violent." He seemed like he wanted to get angry again, yet was too tired for the effort.

          Images of the my rental’s eager-to-leave previous tenants flickered across my inner view-screen. There had been no questions asked and I had thought that my ID-less company were getting away with something. The sublettors must have felt equally blessed, knowing full well the redcaps were about. I shook my head at my own buyer-beware situation, although Larry seem to read it as sympathy for his plight.

          Larry's subsiding rage frittered away fairly quick. I could not tell if our conversing contributed to the dissipation, however I felt certain that my winnowing was a primary factor. Larry’s eyes had gone vacant and glassy in a manner that I had seen more briefly in other... victims? prey? Neither sounded right to my mind, no matter how technically accurate. Without other distractions, such as tending bar or driving, winnowing was as sad as it was fascinating. Only, my sadness was came from Larry's lost fury and my own yearning for more.

          Watching Larry frumpily shuffle back into his house, I only regretted a little that I had failed to say something which would have infuriated him anew. It would have been an ideal opportunity to compare threshing to winnowing.

          Returning to my collective, I mused on the weird vitality sensation within me. I still had a sort of peckishness, though, far more muted than since I had become aware of it. If there was a satiation limit, I had not yet reached it. So, my lips were pursed pensively, as I re-entered the ranch-style, I simply could not decide how I should feel about the potentially endless craving.

          After, I reported what Larry had said, Tallwind admitted, "Well, I'm pretty sure that I know where these, uh, redcaps—I guess we're callin’ 'em—live."

          Our group collectively looked at the wrinkly man with incredulity.

          Tallwind shrugged, causing his yellowed-grey skin to undulate, "Found it by trackin’ an oil-leak. Pooled from a car parked at our curb,” he nodded in the said direction, “then it dripped fairly steady over to a place a few blocks from here.” Elongated fingers nearly wrapped all the way around his saggy throat, as he rubbed his neck thoughtfully. “Thing is, I can’t be one-hundred-percent sure that car had been parked last night, during the spray-paintin’." The gruff man slicked back his thinning hair. "I'm only about seventy-five to eighty percent that the trail stopped where I think it did. Could’ve just been another victim’s place."

          I rubbed my eyes, uncertain whether to be impressed with Tallwind sleuthing, or ticked-off that he had chosen to sit on the information all day long. Even with memory gaps, we had all talked about the graffiti enough during dinner, that Tallwind must have remembered earlier.

          "So," I attempted to redirect my irritation towards the redcap-vandals, "we have to go and check it out, right?” I raised my left hand, palm up. “If it's not them, then we don't do anything.” My other palm was presented. “But if it _is_ them, then we can plan some retaliation." I clench my right fist.

          My comrades looked at me with a little wide-eyed uncertainty, my vengeful enthusiasm may have caught some of them off guard. I did not care. I knew instinctively that either the alpha-dog redcap jerks needed to be put in their place, or we had to be ready for more abuse. And, for me, the abuse thing was not an acceptable option. I could not remember exactly what the Folk had done to me, but I knew it was abusive, and I was done with that crap.

          Gavin and Wade championed my cause, though it did take close to a quarter-hour of merry-go-round debate, before reticent Tallwind buckled to their peer pressure. I could not discern why the burn-faced detective would not simply give us a street address, if he did not want to go. However, it did not matter in the end. The rest of the household preferred to remain and continue guarding the property. Runner in particular pointing out, “Rrirr if something goes wrwrwrong, then we rrr can eithererer play calvelry orrr provide allibies.”

          After getting properly dressed, Tallwind, Gavin, Wade, and I walked the three blocks over to the suspect property. It was a two story, brick, colonial with detached garage. Sure enough, the frat boys/redcaps (frat-caps, if you will) were inside and continuing to party loudly, drunkenly, and stupidly in the pre-dawn hour. I felt a great deal of sympathy for the immediate neighbors.

          The four of us snuck up to the garage, carefully opened it, to verify that the beat-up Geo Metro which my earthen companion had seen earlier. There were also three fairly large dog carcasses, hanging from the rafters, creating a palpable stench.

          Tallwind continued to voyeuristically lurk in the shadows, near the street. However, Wade crept into the crappy vehicle, found a baseball bat in the back seat, and used the club to bash the frat-caps’ mailbox to pieces. Meanwhile, I found some broken beer bottles and placed the sharp things unobtrusively under each of the Geo’s wheels; as soon as the car was backed up, all four tires would go flat.

          The obnoxious redcaps play their music so loudly that the neighbor’s windows were buzzing to the pounding bass-beat. So, no alarm was raised back Wades impromptu crashing demolition.

          Wade jammed the bat into the ground, next to the devastated mailbox. "Well, that was fun, I guess. But, not nearly satisfying enough."

          "Yeah, yeah," I nodded vigorously and kept looking to see if any of the frat-caps were about to emerge, "should we go knock, or call them out here, or something?"

          "I don't know Tom…" Gavin rubbed the back of his gravely neck. "They out number us and they probably have more weapons. But mostly, we’re on their turf, if they call the cops, we’re the ones that actually look bad."

          "Plus," Tallwind nodded and raised one long pointy thumb up to Gavin. "They're changelings, or whatever, like us, right? Only they've probably been at this longer and have some idea how to use their bizarre powers, or gifts, or whatever."

          "Yeah," I hung my head and kicked the dirt, 'that makes sense. And if they really are anything like historical redcaps, then they probably have some pretty dangerous magic."

          On the walk back the four of us agreed that the next step would be to learn exactly what modern day redcaps could really do. Although, that would not be until after several hours of decent sleep.

          As I crawled once more onto my air-mattress, I was surprised to see the time was only 2:39, which meant that the whole affair had taken little more than an hour. I also assumed I would be lying awake for quite some time trying to calm down enough to sleep. I was wrong, about the time needed to drift off and the quality of sleep I would receive.

         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:


	9. Chapter 9

_Twilight Tommy_ …Lyrical like the songs of forever calling, reminding, taunting… zoom in, see Tommy, dull fleshy creature, being sold to Master Aeolian... speed reel, show journey to His Castle in the Sky... jump cut after jump cut, zooms, pans, and twirls… feeding on moonlight… Learning secrets of clouds… Blessed with beauty that touches the hardest of hearts… Struggling confusion… gamboling and gaming in Twilight Lands… Trying to understand bright hard ways of stars… Eating stray fancies… Learning how to keep sunshine in a pocket… Forgetting Time and for the snub Time refusing to acknowledge such an arrogant, ungrateful, foolish boy… First hints of choleric favor, a gossamer to tan the skin… Loosing heart's fire… Choosing the Rust-Red Spear of contentious Summerfire… Weaving shadows… Slaking hunger for magic with mortal anger… Wrapped again in rare reward, hair streaks of golden summer-sun… Slowly replacing lost heat with pure Faery-light… New cold heart of a distant star… Fairest lumor-sprite, burning with nothing more than self adoration… Another grace-filled mantle of allegiance won, clear-scrubbed iris-gem's flash moods, enraged ruby-reds through simmering ambers, occasional envious limes or rare shocks of pearly-white, to fleeting bright citrines… Dark fade out, darker fade in… Feeling Aeolian's wrath beyond reason…. Blur-fade, See Tommy in the hospital, rediscovering the scars of the Master’s rage…

         

Day 8: Tuesday, November 15th

Jerking awake, caused my inflated mattress to bounce, while I veritably vibrated with ill contained shock-wonder and fear-desire. The dream-memories had broken a significant hole in the dam of my fae related amnesia. The resulting flood of thoughts and imagery wracked my body with waves of yearning to giggle with the glee of knowing and needing to weep at the awful revelations of my captivity and reshaping. After what felt like a lifetime, I was able to peer at my clock/TV/Radio. The red LED numerals glowed 3:04 AM, where I had edged the device between my mattress and the wall (easy viewing for me alone). So, that lifetime of composing myself had probably been only four real minutes.

          Then the date registered in and pinged around my tumultuous mind. Seven was an important number in fairytales and myths and now, apparently, my life as well. Exactly seven days had past since my Wade shook me awake in the abandoned Kendal building. Which in turn was twice seven days and seven years, since I had been taken by the Folk.

         I lay back, contemplating the whorls and streams of the freshly unleashed memories and ideas. The churning ebbed and congealed, providing a few more solid pieces to which I could connect, expanding my “big picture” puzzle”. My arms and legs throbbed and rippled as the muscle tension unspooled.

          The dream-memories (dreamemories?, or dreamories?, perhaps dreamamberings?) images retained a frightful-beautiful clarity, yet much of the lore seeped almost immediately from my pooling consciousness, to be absorbed directly into the bedrock of instinctual knowledge. Plus, there were still vast-dark spaces, exacerbated by a temporally chaotic lack of linear continuity to all of the new-old thoughts. Even so, what parts I could identify were unquestionably mine, no more self-doubt second guessing.

So, fair reader, I trust that you shall forgive a certain amount of vagary in my descriptions of what I learned from that Dreamland visit. Some knowledge I keep secretive for my own sake, while some simply became more feeling than thought. For example, I gained understanding of Peter Dionysus’s reaction to the power of naming things, especially the Folk. I could not describe how or why it happened, yet I knew definitively that the Sidhe could hear their names and related words across endless distance and untold time. The more often a Bright One’s name or title is used, especially over short spans, the greater the likelihood that an echo would reach that Keeper’s supernatural ear. Impossible-unearthly hearing which would be able to follow the echo to its source.

I swallowed hard against my impulsive desire to call out the names of Anwynn the Lord of Death or Aeolean my Master of Boys. Some foolish, hateful, broken, pernicious part of me ached for the ease of being a thing to be toyed with and admired. All the rest of me railed against that impulse, clenching my teeth and resolving to use the less specific titles, if thought of Them could not be avoided outright.

          Even so, They were central to much of my new-old memories, or a least my Master of Boys had been. The Lord of Death had merely taken me by my True Name, so unwittingly bartered, and sold me to my keeper, as he did the other “clinical trial volunteers” to their Bright Masters. Of course, I grinned bitterly at the retrospective understanding, the Lord of Death had included a fourteen-year and fourteen-day clause, of which He did not warn His buyers would return our names and freewill to us.

.         Terrible, fickle, damning, and challenging was my Keeper, even onto forcing my desire to serve as much as the servitude itself. Unfathomable and glorious-horrendous my Master had many boys, all shaped to His will and purpose set throughout His “land”. Some boys were remade the His whim many times over, until they either pleased or broke. I was plucked and polished to be placed as a new wishing-star, a display piece of His cleverness, hung high in His airy realm.

          On my air-filled vinyl mattress, breath came strained, due to still dark memories obscuring the specifics of my metamorphosis, only oozing hints of terror, anguish, and loss. Even so, I still felt the shape around the darkness and understood that my Keeper had twisted outlooks, reshaped innards, adjusted attitudes, and selected memories, discarding the facts of my humanity deemed unnecessary, cumbersome, or problematic, while infusing glamour secrets, fae needs, and His own desires. Always bent towards the goal: stars must shine and hang unaided in the night, additionally whishing-stars were required to sway fortunes. Stars are gossamer, luminous, beautiful, distant, aloof, and pointy, thus my delicate tapered features had been honed in those directions.

          My stomach lurched with the certainty that, in time, my Keeper would have made me learn the secrets of flight, polished me shinier, and other worse-wondrous things. I shuddered with the conflicted belief that had the Lord of Death’s contract not expired when it did, then I may never have fled my Keeper, regardless of retrieving my name. And that was not the only coincidence, the contract had not stipulated any safe return home. Even more fortuitously, the Folk were not the only entities of powerful influence, and the embodiment of Summerfire took an interest in me—beyond, and in spite of, the Master of Boys insidious attentions.

It had been knowing Summerfire’s friendship and support which bolster my courage enough to flee, when my name returned. Furthermore, Summerfire had taught me secrets, glamours, which aided my escape through the Briar Between. I clenched my golden-brown fist and smiled triumphant, knowing that Summerfire’s Graces stayed with me still. For more satisfying than the glamours, Summerfire had granted me tangible proof of our allegiance, which colored my skin, hair, and eyes. That I retained the enhanced appearance in the mundane world, was proof that the conceptual natural-phenomena still had potency, even It could not manifest as in the Lands Beyond.

         In fact, the Grace of my sun-kissed skin even shone through the Masque. Rosa’s puzzling words “summery disposition” clicked into two places. First, I was much more committed to and beloved by Summerfire than any of my cohorts were to their humors. Secondly, The seasonal-humors were even powerful enough to effect the Masque.

          Seasonal-humors, I realized with a start was the collective term for Summerfire and those akin to Summerfire. Yet, humor was also similar to the historic mortal usage, although more accurate to fae psycho-physiognomy… I bit my lip, uncertainly, I would need to research that a bit more to be confident. Regardless, in addition to long-hot days and lasting flames, Summerfire was unbridled struggle and all forms of fury. Thus, I had learned how to access wyrd through mortal anger. Plus, I saw-felt-believed more clearly that anger was a means to an end.

What I actually threshed or winnowed into wyrd, was still an empty space in the puzzle. At least the other adjoining piece now had the name “wyrd”—that which I had been mislabeling weird vitality. The anger let me access something in un-changed people, which became wyrd, and then was used to trigger my faery glamours and as an agent in binding the most potent of bargains. I sighed softly, even if all of my amnesia were reversed, I doubted that I had ever understood the energy and its uses any better.

On the other hand, I grinned with satisfaction at the glamours which I could now grasp clearly. Aspects of my ice-cream dreamembering interwove with “lessons” from my Keeper to complete the tapestries which were the fortune manipulating glamours of good and ill luck, I even remembered that I had assigned them the titles of Fortune’s Favor and Fickle Fortune, respectively. I also recalled a defensive glamour which tied to my luminous aura and something that I called Fairest Tongue which could improve my social skills. The thing about glamours was that to activate one a whole woven cluster of secrets was necessary before the wyrd would be of any use. Thus, I frowned, as I identified secret-threads which seemed connected to dark-amnesia places. So, my Keeper or Summerfire had imparted more magic than I fully remembered and no amount of tugging at those threads would pull the glamours into the light. Another whispered sigh, I would attempt to research what I could at Sheaves & Leaves, however I knew that the value of glamour secrets made that process incredibly unlikely. Mostly, I just hoped that my shadowy walls of amnesia would continue to crumble.

          I was vaguely aware that my weathered and earthen roommates also shifted in quiet wakefulness. None of us opting to share the gut-wrenchingly personal experiences that our dreams had made us relive. I drifted off to an untroubled slumber, hoping that I would retain the new-old memories long enough to add them to my notes, in the morning.

 

Post dawn brought breakfast to a surprisingly subdued household. Everyone was as lost in thought as Rai normally acted. However, my quiet came more from needing to focus on my dreamembering transcription. Even though, the dreamamberings had proven vividly resilient up until then, I was not going to risk losing them again. On the other hand, it was typically perverse that none of my colleagues felt the need to compare dreams, now that I was actually interested. Even if I could not glean more generally useful fae information, such as additional glamours, I would still have liked to collect a couple of person secrets about each of my allies—as insurance against their potential future misconduct. So, I had to settle for knowing their True Names, as given at Kendal, even though that meant we were on even footing as they all had mine, as well. At leas, I hoped, our communal introspectiveness was indicative of a new era of less overall forgetfulness and flaky behaviors.

          By the time breakfast (oatmeal and tea) wound down, the moodiness of our septet had also subsided far enough for plans to be made regarding the redcaps, at any rate. After Tallwind recapped the excursion to the frat-caps house, in his gruff noir cinema style, the group agreed that the ‘caps were likely to amp-up a retaliation. Even if the frat-holes did not it figure out we had messed with the mailbox and car, odds were good that they would keep harassing us—it was simply the bully way.

          "We could, “ Tallwind’s rough cynicism came out between sips of foul instant coffee, “just burn the 'cap's house down. Preferably with them in it."

          "No.” Gavin's usually jovial demeanor vanished, orangey-face achieving maximum stoniness, and polished blue-marble eyes boring into the excessively wrinkled fellow, “We do not set fires. There are innocent neighbors and a house fire can spread out of control too fast in Fall weather." So, whatever else Gavin’s Keeper had taken from him, at least that much of his fireman’s mentality remained.

          It did not take much discussion before everyone agreed that knowing more was the best option and that Sheaves & Leaves was the best place for that. Either the rare books, or one of the other spirit-touched attendees, must be able to provide some insight as to best defenses against redcaps. To maximize our potential for quick success, all of s—even Rai—would spend the day researching at the fae gathering place.

 

Rai's 'cycle was finally running to the large predatory-lad satisfaction, so he drove himself, in spite of the barely above forty degree temperature and drizzle slicked roads. The remaining six of us once more split evening between my Festiva and Runner's taxi. As unsafe as I thought Rai’s choice had been, my hirsute cohort proved to be far more road wild. wove and careened through traffic, as if he were in an action movie chase scene.

So, it was no wonder that my use of the rules of the road had my Festiva arriving quite a few minutes after the hack. As my car’s passengers disembarked, Rai pulled into the gravel lot, with a wisp of a passenger, clinging to his broad back. Sol’s daytime illness looked no worse for the wet autumnal motorcycle trip. So, clearly the panther-guy had found and enlisted our errant housemate.

          Inside Ariadne’s Sheaves & Leaves, Runner, Tallwind and Wade were just starting the process of joining the rare books club. Gavin and I headed on to the collection, while Tegan helped the others obtain sign-up.

          I made a beeline for the “Dark” section, with Gavin in my wake. The cramped, little, incredibly shadowy room had made me uncomfortable and my towering brick-ish companion tended to make me nervous. Therefore, I plotted to pit the location's creepiness against the Gavin’s intimidating presence.

          I opened the dark wood door, set back in its shadowy alcove, and made a little bow and hand gesture to let Gavin enter, "You see what you can find here and we'll meet up in a bit."

          "You betcha." The man saluted with a grin and two thick orange and pitted fingers.

          I closed the door behind my oblivious ally and headed off, grinning, before he could call for my assistance. I was betting that the walking-wall’s stalwart-ness would rebuff the Dark section's unsettling advances. However, if I lost that bet, I did not want to be there for Gavin’s reaction, no matter how amusing his confused disturbance might be. Mainly it was just nice to not have the semi-professional weightlifter posing and flexing at every opportunity—offering to lift my every book, or bookshelf, or entire section of books.

          My next move was to try and find a employee or circulations desk, I was assuming that the extensive rare books collection must have enough members to warrant consistent re-shelving needs.

Even allowing for the manor sized exterior, from the garden side of things, the rooms and halls filled with books easily exceeded the buildings parameters. Thanks to my dream-adjusted mindset, I was able to compartmentalize my wonder and keep on task. I also had the wherewithal to pencil notes as I went, “Emotion section, lining early 20th century staircase with wall-recessed shelving of distressed wood (varying hues)”, or “Geography, in hall (cobblestone floor), antique mining-style light fixtures, metal shelves on one side, shelves cut into stone-wall on the other”, and so on. Just because I had not witnessed any shelves or rooms moving about, did not mean it could not happen. So, I hoped that at least two of each of my reference notes, would remain the same, for a return journey.

          My caution was exacerbated by a combination of my previous readings about the Briar and my dreamembering confirmation of the ever-changing extra-dimensional place. Whoever, Ariadne was, they had clearly built Sheaves & Leaves across the barrier betwixt the Briar and the mundane. Leaving me to wander the possibly endless and potentially shifting stacks.

          As I sought aid, I smiled at my own restraint. Everything about my Keeper scrambled mind simply wanted to pick whatever books seemed interesting and read, then meander to a new selection. My more anxious spirit-touched self, of the last week, encouraged me to select a topic or two from my long list of unanswered questions to try a brief overview. However, my pre-change college-student self reminded me of how easy it was to loose track of time and topic, when researching. So, I smiled at the integration I was feeling and how it helped me overcome distracting impulses.

          Besides, I had enough external distraction to overcome. Such as ignoring the handful of individuals that I came across, as other fae, they were all fascinating to see and I imagined as rife with knowledge as Peter Dionysus. However, as members they were likely to charge for information, as the professor had done. Plus, my one attempt to interact with such a stranger, only reinforced the potential for unwanted distraction.

          In the Law section, had been a tall cobalt-blue man, with a pair of long, straight, ibex-like, ebony horns growing up and back from his forehead. He had stood in front of a bookshelf, with one of the books open in his rich-blue hands.

          Approaching with polite caution, I had said, "Hello."

          The devilish fellow had turned his head, to slowly pan me up and down a couple of times with his half-lidded silvery snake-eyes, "Hello, yourself, pretty." His languid purring-tone could have taught Mae West and Marylyn Monroe a thing or two.

I had been placed instantly on guard, having never had anyone address me so wantonly. Mostly, I had just been able to tell that the fellow was acting predatory. It may have been as innocent as flirtation or something far more dangerous, for all my general inexperience knew. So, I mainly did not want to inadvertently encourage him, while also not wanting to rudely slight him either. "Uh," I tried to remember why I had spoken, "I'm, uh, new here…"

          "Yes, you most certainly are,” a too-wide smile, full of many too-many pointy bright-white teeth, including extra-long canines, “aren't you?" the throaty hum was too deep in the register to be called a purr.

          Reflexively, I had taken a half-step back. Would simply leaving have been a detrimental social gaff? Or worse, would it provoke him to chase me? I fell back on sticking to my goals. "Um, yeah, okay… Uh, anyway, I was wondering if you could, uh, give me directions…"

          The carnivorous smile had actually widened. The man closed the book, turned to fully face me, and held the book in both hands in front of his crotch. His reflective slit-eyes danced over me again, as he cut me off to say, "Certainly, turn around—slowly. So, I can get a really good look at you." Another too-deep-to-be-a-purr sound.

          “Uh,” I had to accept that I was not prepared to cope with such additional complications, "never mind,"

I had then backed around a corner, before turning to go about my search for a presumably more professional interaction with an employee. However, I walked with more of a spring in my step for awhile. Even though, I was not into other men, any such attention was always a pleasant self-esteem boost.

          Eventually, I came upon a fastidiously dressed man, with a spider-web badge, similar to Philomena’s at the front desk. The fellow’s ink-black hair was pulled into a small squared-off ponytail and his Vandyke was sharply trimmed. Glimpses of black, runic, tattoos appeared at his wrists, as he struggled with a grey lady. She sat in a darkly upholstered wingback chair. The lass was pretty and youthful, yet terribly glum—to the point that merely looking at her dampened my spirits. The effect was surely enhanced by her all grey appearance (hair, skin, dress), as if she were a black and white film come to life, and augmented further by rolling beads of moisture, as if that film was taking place in a heavy downpour. The employee and the lady struggled over a book, each gripping two opposing corners. It resolved in the man's favor.

          The woman remained in the chair looking forlorn. She made no move to go and did not seem to register that I had witnessed the struggle.

          The fellow produced a towel from a cart which was stacked with books for reshelving. Then he started wiping his prize and pushing the cart with his hips, while muttering something angrily about "…warned her." and "salt water".

          I caught up to him in short order and got his attention. I noted that his badge, like Philomena’s, had the stylized teacup on an open book at the center of a web. Unlike the front desk clerk, this man’s pin was silver and bore no identifying name or title.

          "Hi, um, I'm Tommy," I introduced myself, "uh, or Tom." I kept my hands clasped in front of me at waist height.

          The reedy man looked me over disapprovingly. "And?" His voice matched his look.

          " _And_ , nameless worker-person," I tried maintain some joviality, through my annoyance at having not received a reciprocal introduction, "I’m looking for books about redcaps. Can you direct me to such things?"

          "I am known as Alistair." He still seemed snooty, but less indignant. "Redcaps will be filed in the ogre section." A flick of his right hand, which could have been directional as easily as it could have been dismissive.

          "Okay. I am new to all this… " I started to gesture, then corrected myself. "Ah, not books, I am very familiar with books. By this, I meant… well, all the rest of it." My reassuring smile may have been a bit manic.

          Alistair, ali-stared at me, with large eyes, like pools of wet indigo ink on bleached paper.

          "So, uh, yeah." I verbally marched on, as we both physically continued walking. "I have been a member here for only a few days and have not yet had the opportunity to familiarize myself with the extensive layout. Perhaps you could give me detailed directions to the ogre section."

          Alistair now looked annoyed in that store clerk sort of way—the one that says “I cannot believe I am being asked to do my job.” Aloud he sighed and said, " _You_ will have to follow me. There is no way you could find it alone."

          I ignored the “you”, which implied that someone better than me could have found the section without assistance. Before leading me further, though, we paused long enough at his desk for Alistair to park his cart. The desk top was pristinely clean. The desk set was set to perfect ninety-degree angles and spaced out with matching distances. The desk set's name plate read "Alistair Tomes, Head Archivist" in no-nonsense block letters. I smiled at Alistair’s reassuringly consistent and silly compulsion.

          From there Alistair walked briskly. I was ready for that ploy and kept pace, happy enough to not be wandering aisles. The two of us strode swiftly down a hall, through a room, down two flights, up one, down again, more rooms and halls in between—the architecture changing radically in places.

          As we walked I ventured to chat, partially to slow Alistair down a bit, "I noticed you were having a bit of a tug-of-war with that lady, back there?"

          "Hmph," his highly refined indignation also kept an easy pace, "I hardly consider her a lady: soaking the covers, warping the pages…."

          "But, uh, she is a member isn't she? She has the same rights to the books, right?" I could tell that my guide felt my phrasing a bit accusatory. I tried to amend, "I mean, uh, it's not her fault she's like she is, right?"

          "Ha," Alistair was mirthless, "there is nothing keeping her from bringing a towel either, is there?"

          I conceded the archivist’s point and he acted mildly surprised, as if unused to people agreeing with him without more of an argument. For my part, I really did think Alistair was technically correct. I would have agreed anyway, though, as I cared more about getting continued and future assistance than the seemingly ongoing feud with the grey girl.

          By and by, we came to the Ogre section. It was in a stone room that looked to be part of a medieval tower. Narrow window slits and all. A pink-marble statue of a man stood in the corner, near the shelves to which I was directed. These particular shelves were made of various bones, lashed together with hide. There was also a small roll top desk and matching chair, in the other corner. Glass-bowled, gas lamps (shaped like marching elephants) helped the feeble daylight that drifted in through the arrow-slit windows.

          Alistair indicated the bookcase, "I do not want to find any of the books burned or charred."

          I blinked in surprise, "Um, okay." I guessed at his meaning. "I'll make sure to be careful of where the light fixtures are."

          The archivist looked like he thought I was trying to make a joke which he did not find amusing. Alistair thrust his palm towards my face, then waved it around my head, as if he was testing the heat of a candle flame. Grudgingly satisfied, the crisp fellow retracted his hand. "Well... I suppose it will be alright."

          I thanked Alistair and he clicked his heels while bending at the waist, towards me. The gesture had been successfully calculated to make it clear that Alistair knew what a bow was and that I was not worthy of an actual bow. I did my best to mirror the gesture, knowing full well that my Doc Martens would never click. Alistair’s purple-eyes almost smiled, before he departed.

I found the affectation very amusing and could not help but to replicate it as I thought. Turned to the bookcase, I drew out my pencil and notepad, repeating the stiff-legged click-and-bend several times.

          Meanwhile, I was recording the landmarks of which I had been keeping track, since Alistair's desk. My ploy to slow the snooty archivist had worked, enough for me to take notes of many details. I doubted that I could have gotten back on my own, with less. As I put my pad away, movement to my right caught my attention.

          The pale-pink marble-statue was not as much a statue of a man reading a book as I had thought. The polished-stone spirit-touched had turned his head from his, not at all marble book, to watch me play at "pretending to be Alistair". The statuesque fellow’s stony-gaze considered me with mild curiosity. I turned ninety degrees, to face my quiet neighbor, and did the click-bend one last time. Marble guy smiled, nodded, and returned to his reading.

          Part of the back of my mind whooped and jigged at the new fantastically wondrous things and people I had been experiencing, since re-entering the rare books collection. My revelatory dream had added some jade to my thinking, however not nearly enough to bore me with the marvels around me. It was just that, I reminded that giddy part of me, the frat-caps posed a real threat to my rented territory. So, there would be time for reveling later. Besides, based on Alistair and my marbled neighbor, playing it cool was working for me.

          I found a promising book, took it to the roll-top desk, and scanned the contents. I repeated the action several times before my compatriot arrived. So, when I looked up, I realized that I had a dozen books piled on the desk, with a couple open for cross-referencing.

          My attention had been drawn to Alistair’s voice at the bottom of the spiral, stone-stairs which led up to the Ogre room. "He is up there." Then something indistinct, as whoever the fussy bibliophile's had spoken to responded to the archivist’s departing back.

          Gavin turned out to have been the individual that Alistair had led. "Tom." By way of greeting, the semi-pro bodybuilder said, in that slightly drawn out tone which suggested that he wanted to have stern words with me, while chunky arms flexed massive orangey hands, in and out of boulder-fists.

          Pink statue-guy had departed at some point, hours earlier, so Gavin and I were alone in the little and distant room. "Hey, Ga… ah, um, Hank!" Even though I was certain that Gavin was a safer name, the man still had not claimed it for himself and it was not my place to assign it.

"Was that Alistair,” I remained seated and faced the ex-firefighter, and put forth cheerful energy to deflect some of his tension, “that I heard you with?"

          "The anal guy with the goatee?" Gavin’s voice remained flat.

          I nodded. I would not have called Alistair anal… at least, not within Ariadne’s—where the archivist might have a glamour to hear what the books heard, for all I knew. An intriguing thought, however I was more interested in discerning why Gavin seemed to be in a grim mood—especially, if I was the reason.

          "Yeah, I was looking for you and he eventually agreed to show me the way." The innocuous talk of Alistair took some of the steam out of Gavin, his eyes stopped narrowing and fists ceased clenching.

          "Cool." I replied quick to keep this particular conversational momentum going, "Well, try the bone bookcase." I gestured to the shelves. "I think that I have the key stuff here," I turned back to my reading, "but you might see something that I missed."

I was playing a hunch. Gavin seemed to be the kind of guy that once he was set on a course of action—like chewing a person out—it was hard to distract him. However, if the rough-hewn fellow has not wholly committed to a train of thought, then it was fairly easy to…. Well, if not successfully derail him, at least switch the tracks. The fact that the bookcase was made of bones was just weird enough, to pill Gavin’s immediate inspection, as a bonus he noticed a thin book which he had to browse.

          I watched Gavin from the corner of my eye. Once the blocky shoulders settled into a more relaxed position, I spoke in a casual chit-chat manner, gauged to avoid pulling Gavin full attention back to me. "I found some good stuff on redcaps. Do you know if any of the others have found anything?" I wanted to ask about what he had found in the Dark section, yet decided that may have had something to do with why Gavin had used his I'm-not-happy-with-you voice. So, better to direct the focus of conversation to other people.

          "Huh? Oh yeah," Gavin looked up with some recollection twinkle in his grey-blue eyes. "Um, Gerri wanted everyone to come to the garden. It sounded sort of urgent."

          I started closing and stacking the books I had brought to the desk. "Well then let's go. I was pretty much done here, anyway." I bit back my petulant “Why didn't you say so?”, as that would have reminded Gavin of what he had been thinking moments ago. I was content to settle for earthen fellow’s apparent inability to think past the book he found and remembering the Tegan’s message.

          I made sure to stack the books that I had out, as neat and square as possible, on the little desk, for Alistair's pleasure. No adjoining tomes faced the same way, which was an amusement for myself, as I was sure it would exasperate the fastidious archivist. As we left, I also saw that the book which Gavin had replaced was titled "A New Stoneskin's Guide to Polishing". I filed the information away, in case it ever became useful. I used my notepad “landmark” list-map to lead Gavin back to the more populated sections, as swiftly as possible, before he remembered whatever it was that had caused his irritation.

It worked, until we stopped.

          Just as Gavin and I reached the French-doors to the lounging garden, he clenching fists started grinding again, "Oh yeah, you and me need to ta…"

I caught the briefest reprieve, as that was when we met up with Wade, Tallwind, and Sol. The trio were lurking about in over-stuffed chairs, just within the shadows to the side of the French-doors. Wade explained that Tegan wanted us all to meet outside, while she rounded-up the other members of our household.

The process delayed Gavin, unfortunately he had already locked into momentum. So, as our quintet found a quiet place to congregate, in the shade of a birch, Gavin physically and purposefully glowered over me and metaphorically barreled ahead. "Tom, I wanna talk to you, about Darkness."

          "Did you find something that we could use?!" I made another attempt at the enthusiasm dodge. Our colleagues even looked interested, which I hoped would add further distraction to my ploy.

          "No." Gavin said, like a gravestone hitting the ground. "No, I didn't.” His overly controlled voice made him sound as if he thought I was slow-minded. ”It's kinda impossible to _see_ anything, in a room with zero lights."

          "I didn't have any trouble seeing in there." The sickly looking Sol chimed in cheerfully, from were she sat back-against the tree-trunk.

I smiled at Sol for her assistance.

          "Yes, well," Gavin turned to the pallid lass, "If you hadn't found me, I'd still be stuck there."

          "Oh, come on G... Hank," I chided, "the room was barely a closet. You could’ve felt around for the doorknob." I looked to Sol for more back-up.

          The white on white lady in black nodded.

          Wade and Tallwind were staying out of Gavin's eye line and suppressing their laughter at his expense. It was clear that the big man had gotten afraid of a dark room and that two of the frailer members of our party had not.

          "Well," Gavin continued, while loosing steam, "in pitch blackness, there wasn't a way to tell."

          "I didn't know it was gonna be that dark, dude." I tried to match his sort of frat guy tone, as I almost apologized—it was too funny for actual remorse. "When I was there, the other day, there was a dim bulb in the ceiling." Even as I said it, I realized that I had not been aware of my moonlight glow and that was probably from where the faint illumination had actually come.

          Of course, there was no need to admit my revelation to Gavin, especially as it was clear that he was not going to take the non-event to a physical level. The anecdote was simple too fun for teasing the lumpy orange fellow. Doubly so as Sol joined my efforts, while our two scarred companions enjoyed the show.

          The impromptu verbal team-up forced my background self to re-assess Sol. Still wan and sickly in sunlight, yet outwardly jovial and never complaining of the obvious discomfort, spoke well of Sol. On the other hand, the black-black-black eyed lass had just admitted to being able to see in pitch darkness. Plus, I recalled the report of Sol’s spinal tattoos , in context with my reformed sense of the Folk, suggested to me that her Keeper had to take extra steps to claim and control the white-haired lady. The impression was reinforced as Sol’s jibes at Gavin seemed a bit more vitriolic than playful. Overall, I felt that Sol was even more dangerous than I had before. Not only did the creepy lass have the hidden hand mouths, she also seemed custom designed as a nocturnal predator or assassin. Another part of me wondered if any of my other colleagues had been paying close enough attention, to see the potential dark-malevolence behind Sol’s lighthearted demeanor.

          Well before teasing Gavin had grown dull or my inner musings made me flinch away from Sol, our three remaining compatriots arrived. Tegan somehow managed a sashay, even without a skirt for the extra sway, while Rai and Runner lumbered after, by comparison. All three carried various backpacks and implements. Tegan quickly explained that they had just returned from our house, where they had collected whatever weapons were to hand—crowbars, hatchets, and the like.

          With the gang all there (and we really felt like a gang), Tegan paced before us like a drill-sergeant, "I came out here, earlier, and… well, the point is I went a short way into the Thorns." Sparkling viridescent eyes glance to the tree-line. "When I was there, I encountered a root and, through the root, I heard a tree begging for help."

          As reassuring as it was to have one of my allies openly speak of such things, my mind still reeled at the many dangerous things that were said. Tegan had entered the Maze! Where the hound-pack lives and where we were explicitly told that far worse things hunt! Not to mention, what happened to researching redcaps? Had Tegan gone mad, expecting bark carvings to reveal knowledge? Then a strange tree asked… no, begged for help? Is there a more classic trap? Sound innocent and frail, then when the would-be-do-gooder offers their helping hand clamp down hard and drag them off. Plus, how is a plant talking to Tegan anyway?

          My whirling concerns found voice in my companions mouths. Tegan did not really have any answers, beyond, “Someone is in need out there. Even if it is a tree, it asked for us and seemed too weak to call out to anyone else. So, we’re it.”

And in typical Tegan-talks-we-listen fashion the rest of our group seemed to forget completely about the redcaps and turned there interests to saving the mystery tree. There was not even close to enough distress, for planning to return to the Briar. On the other hand, the tree-root had more likely been a fae equivalent to a telephone line and another spirit-touched may truly need help breaking free of some captor. I shuddered, imagining that a Bright One might be the culprit, I would have to flee such a threat. However, since a lone and weakened fae had sent the call, it was more probable that their captor could not be particularly formidable. Besides, even though the frat-cap threat was close to hand, it was not as immediate as the claims of Tegan’s tree-root friend. Thus, when my seven comrades agreed to trek off towards a mystery peril, I had to go along. Even if my suspicions of ambush proved correct, I was not going to let any of them die, without getting the chance to say, "I knew it."

It is only as I look back and write this passage, dear reader, that I realize that Tegan's do-what-she-wants hypnotic floral aroma had probably been effecting me as much as the others.

 

The forest was nighttime-dark fairly quick, as the ginormous old growth canopy interwove overhead to block out the pale-grey sky. In spite of the almost cave-like darkness, the temperature remained a comfortable autumnal sixty-five-ish degrees. I brightened my faery-light as far as I could, to counter the gloomy wilderness shadows. Sounds were either eerily absent, a breeze that rustled no leaves, or creepily distorted, vaguely mechanical chirps, directionless crashing or creekings. Mixing with the scents of cider and rotting flesh. The dense pricker-filled underbrush, constantly in our way. However, our guides always found a passage with minimal obstruction.

          Tegan and Rai moved through the Thorny Briar with confidence, leading the rest of us from a half-dozen paces ahead, just at the edge of my magical luminance. The lithe lass tripped lightly, as if oblivious to her own dexterity, absently sidestepping roots, rocks, jabby branches, and thorn covered vines. Competitively, as a normal person, Rai had clearly indulged in an excess of sitting at a screen and eating junk-food and after our return to the world he had not looked much different while lazing around our unfurnished house. Yet, the felinoid lad prowled the thick forest with sinewy power, coiled muscles showing through his normally placid physique.

          Flashes of visceral and unsettling déjà vu seemed to ripple through our group, in gasps of unexpected recognition and shivers of remembered difficulties. We had all followed these guides through this dark wilderness before, while fleeing our Keepers. I saw everyone re-meeting, in the Briar near the Lands Beyond, then Rai and Tegan’s ragged scrubs would seem to overlay their current attire. The memories made my muscles ache all over again, along with the dread of whatever now lay ahead.

          The rest of our party stayed close together, me in the middle and the others ringed around, to better stay within my illumination’s dozen-or-so-foot radius. In addition to my earlier research, all of us had seen some bushes shuffling about, in Ariadne’s garden. So, none of us had reason to believe landmarks would reliably lead us back to the bookstore, if we were separated from the pair that seemed so surefooted.

When I, of one of my companions would ask about a course change or being able to find our ways back, big Rai or petite Tegan would reply something like, “Of course, it’s just back there. I’m sure you could find it.” If pressed for more specifics the answers became more like, "Twice around then a nod" or "It's half a roll and a hop". The only reassuring part of the situation was that Tegan and Rai consistently agreed, even with the specifics of the nonsense terms.

          I experienced an altogether more vague and unsettling déjà vu, as we came into view of a flock of birds. The avians were akin to a type of normal-world cormorant, their big beaks shaped like shovels turned sideways, or hatchets. These hob-cousins definitively fell into the hatchet category, as light glinted off of the sharp "blades". I did not know the fowl, exactly. Rather I just felt in my joints what the situation was. The birds would seem innocuous and indifferent, until we stopped thinking about their presence, then _WHAM_ , we would be swarmed.

As our party passed the birds’, clogging most of s single maple-like tree’s branches, they spoke. At least, some of the fowl spoke, never all at once, never in perfect unison, always like they might be talking to themselves, or echoing. "Hello, hello." The voices croaked, as only birds can.

          "Do not engage them." I told my companions, who in turn attempted to ask why and other such foolishness. "Just don't." I was emphatic, as I looked to where I walked, only tracked the flock in my peripheral vision.

          "Hello?" the foul fowl tried again, feathers and leaves rustled, "Food? Food, food?"

          "No." My tone was sternly uncompromising, matching the animal's volume. "Go away." I kept walking, without looking at the birds, and trying to get my cohorts to follow my lead.

          The birds rustled in the branches. "Food?" Corn?"

          "No." I replied.

          My cohorts were starting to straggle, finding the verbal exchange charming.

          "Corn? Corn?" the avians persisted. "Ham sandwich? Ham?"

          And there it was, just as the edge of my moving moonlight aura was reaching my enamored associates, I could practically hear them clue in and tense up. Even the slowest of my traveling companions could predict the evolution of the non-bird-ish requests. So, my allies quickened their pace to catch me up.

          "Sandwich? Roast beef? Roast?" Rustle, squawk.

          The seven of us were as far past the flock as we had been on our approach, when they had taken notice of us. I endeavored to distract the beasts, lest they follow us. I assumed—well, hoped—that the birds would be too dumb to seek us out, if we were gone, once their distraction ended.

          "Hey, over there." I looked at the flock and mimed a throw, as if I pitched something away from our direction, "cake!"

          "Cake! Cake!" the avians chorused and about half of the flock flew in the direction which I had pretended to throw. The remaining birds seemed equally disinterested in the fake cake, as our real selves.

          So, our guides re-took the lead and we were without feathery accompaniment. By and by (probably an accurate direction, within the Between), our septet came to a halt.

Tegan bent down to touch a root, after a moment, she stood and reported, "We're close. I just talked to the tree again." She wiped her lustrous hands on her skin-tight jeans. "She sounds weaker and said we need to hurry, because he's poison."

          "Who's got poison?" Wade and Gavin asked as one.

          Tegan shrugged, making the pattern on her flannel shirt do interesting things, "The tree's captor, I guess."

          Better and better, I thought, with a sigh, as we headed on with more haste

         

Our party crept to the edge of a clearing, roughly ovular—approximately the size of a football field. Central in the otherwise open space was an oak tree, easily ten-stories tall, with trunk at least a dozen feet wide and branches that spanned the width of the clearing. Intriguingly, there were parts of walls and roofing intermingled with the limbs and the structures looked more grown than made, although also worn down and in need of repair. Approximately two-thirds of a dilapidated plank-stairs spiraled up and around the trunk. While at waist height, a finger-thick jagged black-metal chain seemed to cut into the bark, as too-tight underwear elastic bights into skin.

          Standing beside the oak, easily as tall as the trunk was wide, was a manticore, sort of. As I recalled, from my myth oriented Lit classes, legendary manticore were man-headed lions with scorpion tails. What stood at the oak-tree was a giant barrel-chested biped with leonine legs and head and a long-think dark-red scorpion tail. Although, his moth was more man-like and his humanoid hands sported black claws. And it was unquestionably a “he”, as his only clothing was a barely adequate leather-loincloth. The massive battle-axe, gripped almost casually in one clawed-fist, was as long as Tegan was tall and probably heavier the me and her combined.

          The eight of us paused to quietly deliberated how best to proceed. Before any of us could say much, though, a mostly nude woman partially emerged from the tree, at a full run. The oak remained solid, yet she came through the trunk, as if passing through a sheet of water. If healthy the lass would have been very attractive, unfortunately she was obviously malnourished and sleep deprived—sunken cheeks and eyes, visible ribcage, and ashen bark-brown. Her only “garments” were twine or vines and twigs, in what were meant to be strategic placements, although were not nearly enough material for modesties sake. Fleeing from with the tree caused the panicked girl to slam stomach first into the crude black-chain. She blanched and fell back, disappearing once more into the oak-tree’s trunk.

          That got our team moving. A tree had been a bit abstract for saving. A woman, a spirit-touched like us, held by a crude monster, that was easy to rally around. Although, in truth, some of that was presumptuous as the dryad could as easily have been a construct of the magical oak, while the manticore was just as likely to be a changeling. Regardless, my fresh-from-captivity gang identified with the tree lady’s plight and instinctively saw the axe wielding bully as a surrogate Keeper figure.

          Tegan immediately turned to the rest of us and started whispering instructions. In less than a minute, we were all following our default leader’s loose yet viable plan.

Our two ladies split off, stealthily, from the rest of us. In the gloamy woods Sol was nearly as healthy and lithe as at nighttime; she also veritably melded into the shadows and out of sight. I filed away the new reason to worry about offending Sol. Tegan applied her ROTC field-training and deftly scaled into the trees. The ninja-like women would come at the oak, from angles that the manticore could not see.

          The rest of our forces were to distract the mythical-beast-man, while our femtastic duo broke the chain and got the tree-girl away. I thrilled at the opportunity. There was no way I could do much directly against the manticore, however I could apply freshly dreamambered luck glamours to aid allies and hinder the foe.

          Gavin and Wade were first to step into the clearing. Spotting the movement the manticore repositioned to face those of us emerging from the tree-line and, with a gruesomely sharp-toothed grin, he lazily reached out his unencumbered visibly-filthy hand-paw to rake the bark of the oak. As the curls of wood fell from the tips of the manticore's black-claws, a feminine groan of agony emanated from the tree’s branches.

          Then it was on. Any consideration my gang my have given to polite conduct, was thoroughly scratched away. However, some caution did remain, especially because of what we saw next.

          The manticore gestured to the ground , as if scooping armfuls of something towards us. Thus, we saw that hundreds of seemingly normal scorpions carpeted the clearing. The manticore’s directive caused his whole arachnid army to move towards us, thus unwittingly leaving the far side of the oak-tree clear for Tegan and Sol to sneak up.

          The scorpions gave my larger and more fearsome looking allies pause. I, however, had already tucked my jeans into my Doc Martens, to avoid burs and the like. So, the mostly tiny pinchy-stinging critters were not any more threatening than the Briar thorns and nettles that I had already thwarted. I stomped forward, watching for any scorpions which might pounce high, or start crawling up my leg. Thus, bolstered, my allies charged the axe-wielding enemy-monster.

          The skirmish lasted hardly anytime at all—easily less than a minute. Gavin and Rai tackle-wrestled the manticore to the ground, before it could react their charge. Wade and Tallwind ringed the grapplers, jabbing strategically with crowbar and baseball bat. I did not see Runner.

          Meanwhile, Tegan had somehow Tarzan-ed her way into the oak's branches and dropped another crowbar to Sol of the shadows, on the far side of the tree's base. I pursed my lips, luckily I had kept my scoffing at money spent on crowbars, hatchets, and the like to myself, or else I may have had to publically acknowledge my respect for their actual usefulness. Spooky Sol used the crowbar to pop the chain, just as I made my way to her position. The frail-ish blond lass and I then conspired to take up either end of the chain, in order to wrap it around the manticore.

Grasping the rough black-iron hurt, though, like a sunburn on top of frostbite. Our hands immediately reddened and threatened to blister. Even so, Sol and I were both amped up on adrenalin, so we gritted our teeth and soldiered through the pain—needlessly, as it turned out.

          By the time Sol and I charged around either side of the tree-trunk, the manticore had gotten free of our allies and was bounding away into the thick Briar, axe in clawed-hand. None of us were foolhardy enough to follow into the dense foliage, so we satisfied ourselves with the diminishing sounds of the manticore’s crashing into the distance and the scorpion legions aimless, yet swift scuttling dispersal.

          Dropping the black-metal chain, I pointed at it with my right hand, while displaying my left palm, "Hey, guys! That thing’s not safe. I don't think there is permanent damage, but this is real unpleasant."

          Sol nodded emphatic confirmation, while cross-armed pressing her hands into her armpits.

Wade barely looked at the crude chain and said, "Cold iron. Obviously bent and hammered into place by crude force with little or no heating at all."

          "Definitely." Tallwind agreed, crouching over the pile of metal with great interest, his loose skin hanging like curtain folds, "Cold-iron only occurs in the Real World."

          My eyebrows rose in surprise at hearing one of my cohorts use such a phrase. In spite of being in the Maze on the Edge, it had seemed that no amount of massing proof would get any of my fellow Kendal survivors to acknowledge the multiple worlds or our fae existence. Perhaps, I had been misinterpreting their poor communication skills for willful ignorance.

          "It can be heated and shaped like other iron and still be considered cold iron." The burn scarred man continued.

          "As long as it remains pure enough and you don't go mixing in other metals." The former fencer also stood over the snaking pile of chain, with his scar ravaged hands on his hips.

          "But most people don't know that, pfft," Tallwind snorted, "most everyone thinks "cold" is meant literally."

          Wade nodded somberly, "Still… Beating it into shape like this, takes a lot of impressive force."

          "Pheh," the wrinkly fellow flicked his spindly fingers, dismissively, "it's shortsighted, is what it is. You just wind up with small, brittle, pieces. Not good for anything really useful." He pointed one needle-y digit at the black-black chain in the green-green grass. "Even this thing wouldn't hold against any serious pressure."

          Wade crossed his arms and looked more dour than usual at Tallwind's dismissive tone, yet still nodded curt agreement.

          "Cold-iron is really quite rare, though." Tallwind sniffed and half shrugged, sending his curtains of skin to swaying. "It's only found in certain peat bogs and from meteorites. And the bogs are probably just ancient meteor debris."

          Gavin and I helped carefully scoop the chain into Tallwind's backpack, while he lectured. Rare was good enough reason to keep, for me. However, as a clearly extra dangerous weapon against spirit-touched threats, we all saw the potential of having the chain in our possessions.

          Meanwhile, in the sturdy branches of the oak, the newly liberated dryad rose as if lifted by an elevator through the solid limb, on which Tegan knelt. The ashen bark-brown girl's midriff appeared to be chemical-burned, as if she had been wearing a belt of bleach, not just were we had seen her slam into the cold-iron chain. Then, without preamble or warning, primly dressed Tegan embraced and kissed the effectively naked stranger, square on the mouth.

The scene was pretty damn hot, especially as the two manes of red-hair entwined. Although, the other reason for my squinting scrutiny, was concern that the generally repressed Tegan might have been under the notorious magical charms or enchantments of dryads. On the other hand, for all I knew Tegan might be gay. However, when the embrace ended after only a handful of heartbeats, Tegan looked a slightly more unnerved than elated.

          Then the dryad was better, magically revived, vibrant, and vivacious. Lush, bright foliage grew from the vines and twigs about the lass, covering much more effectively, in what amounted to a tube-top-style bandeau and a long slit-sided skirt. Her skin had gone from rough and ashen to a smooth rich bark-brown, including a wood-grain patternation. Although, the pale-aggravated “belt wound” remained.

The tree lady led Tegan, by the hand, to ground level. Additional plank-steps sprouted from the tree-trunk, filling in the missing spiral-stairs, as the duo descended. I consciously closed my gaping mouth, as I reminded myself, for about the kajillionth time, that I was not dreaming and a new life with scorpion controlling manticores might be scary, but perky mostly-naked magical tree-girls went a long way to balancing the scales.

The dryad introduced herself to all of us, "I am known as Amaryllis," her voice was warm, resonant, and filled with excitement, like a cheerleader crossed with a torch singer, "but you may call me Amy."

          I followed suit, as my seven associates introduced themselves as Hank, Gerri, Ken, and so forth. Although, I did hesitate, believing that even the partial True Names could be dangerously used, and because I doubted that Amaryllis was the Dryad’s True Name. however, since none of my cohorts seemed concerned, I tried to play it cool.

          It was hard to get a read on Amy height, as she kept moving (around, as well as up and down on the balls of her feet), however she was tall, somewhere between five-ten and six-one. In spite of the tree-spirit’s wood-like appearance, she moved with supple muscular-athleticism, with an all-around Olympian’s body—long runner’s legs, sculpted archer’s shoulders and arms, and so on. Amy's hair was a luxuriant mass of maple-red waves and coils, with vibrant splashes of deep-orange, golden-yellow, and earthy-browns, which cascaded over her shoulders and back, down to the slope of her firm posterior.

          Amy enthusiastically thanked us each profusely, then sounded a little desperate, as she asked, "And you will stay won't you?!"

          My companion’s faces mirrored my own uncertainty, so I ventured, "Um, Amy, it's nice here, but um, we need to be able to go places and stuff."

          "Oh," the dryad waved one hand, as if shooing a fly, "you can come and go. I could just be your haven." Her warm positive tone, reinforced the cheerleader-on-duty vibe.

          "Our what?" asked Wade, Gavin, and Tallwind together.

          "Haven," the effervescent dryad annunciated, "your motley's safe place."

          "Motley?" it was Tegan's turn, she had disengaged from Amy's hand hold and stepped a few paces back as soon as the tree-girl started her thank yous.

          Amy’s large eyes looked like bleached wood set with lacquer-polished discs and they rolled skyward at the obtuse questions, "Yes, obviously, You _are_ a group together? Yet, not all of a kind and sharing skills and resources, right? Why else would you come together and aid me?"

          My housemates and I glance-checked with each other and had to shrug-nod a sort of “fair enough” agreement.

          "Then," Amy concluded, her strong hands on her shapely hips, "collectively, you are a motley."

          "Uh," Runner asked in his low grumbly voice, apparently back from whatever call of nature had kept him from attacking the manticore, "What rrr about food? Irrm It's kind urf hard to errmph get to the rrr grocery storererer from hererrr."

          "Yeah," I added eyeing the structures in the oak's branches, "and space? It does not look like you have enough room for all of us to stay."

          Amy sighed the sigh of people talking to the dim and the leaves of her outfit rustled enticingly, "That doesn't matter, sillies. To make me your haven you will all agree on what is desired. Then we shall make it so." She smiled, like it was obvious and easy and something everyone did all the time.

          I wondered if Amy was aware of the sexual innuendo she was using, quickly concluding that she was far too earnest to be implying what I had sort of hoped she had been implying. So, the pros became, a rent-free space, free food, safe from redcaps, and walking distance to Ariadne’s Sheaves & Leaves. While the cons were, living the Briar, with manticores and axe-beaks and hound-packs and who knows what else.

          Our octet deliberated and posed questions to Amy. The buxom dryad assured us that in addition to living-space, defenses could easily be improved—not just physically, either. The dryad’s magic would make our haven harder for any strangers to locate.

, the clincher was Amy’s soulful-eyed plea, "If you all leave me, then that beast—or worse—is sure to claim me, instead."

          All of us had to agree.

The _TWANG-hum_ of the resulting deal being struck was the deepest that I had experienced, my fingers and toes tingled for minutes afterward. The sense of security, which accompanied the bargain, dwarfed anything I could remember—even from my mortal childhood.

          Amy quickly positioned the other eight of us, evenly around her oak's wide trunk, kneeling to touch the bark with our palms. Then, the dryad melded into the tree, as if it were not even there, and we were all connected on a partially mental, mostly urge/desire level.

          Amaryllis's presence guided us, offering a sense of what was doable and what was not possible. Each member of our commune provided part of ourselves to form and solidify the safe haven to our intents, to reshape and stock it to our interests. Wyrd was only a small part of what was given, the rest was far more personal. At the time it was clear and easy to understand, however as soon as our ritual connection ended the description escaped my grasp.

          As we consented and concentrated, the oak changed, growing sturdier and healthier. I felt the cold-iron band of damage heal, around my/Amy’s waist, as I watched it fade, from the trunk before me, to a thin dark scar. More architecture ripened into being. All sense of ricketiness dissipated. Windows grew shutters. A guardrail branch grew the length of our trunk’s exterior retractable spiral-stairway. Inside, eight personal rooms took shape and sprouted basic furnishings, as did common room—stocked kitchen, lavatories, and a hot tub. Running water flowed in, electricity was not possible, although Amy would be able to regulate the temperature as requested.

Each of us took a step back and admired our work for a moment. I had no idea how much time had past, however sun was in a distinctly different place in the sky. The mingling of minds or spirits or whatever evaporated swiftly from articulate memory. All of the details became no better than a half remembered scent from some childhood experience. Though, I did feel slightly more comradary with the group, Amy now included.

Then, I whooped and sped up the spiral-stairs. I went straight to the top most room, practically a solarium. Impulsively, I placed things from my pockets and backpack on the bed, the desk, and in the wardrobe. I sat in the desk chair and twirled. It took very little time before I was inspired to gather more personalized decorations.

         

The dinner which Amy's provided was great: vegetarian, yet completely free of any chemicals or modifications, beyond cooking. Not just salads, either, as our kitchen had an ingenious coal or wood burning brick-oven which heated a ceramic top , for stove-like use. The tree-spirit even assure us, "Of course, this is all that I could gather, on short notice. Depending on season and with enough time, other fare may certainly be available."

          Rather than the delights of our new haven, the discussion around our large ovular dining-table was prompted by Wade’s dry rasp. "So, what are we? I mean, like what does it mean to be spirit-touched or changelings or whatever we are now?"

          Several of us attempted to answer the grim fellow and it became clear that he was just then really and truly beginning to accept what Anwynn had done to us. Wade was finally starting to struggle with the personal and collective issues that had been careening about my head since day one. As the topic drifted into the miasma of morals, Wade squinted and rubbed his neck, "Why should we do anything about the frat-punk… uh, redcaps? After all, they're changelings, like us, right? Should we not have more loyalty to them, than to the unchanged masses?"

          "Plus," Runner had left the table in favor of the depths of a comfy chair in the adjoining living room, sleepy and more grumbly than usual, "we urr have rrurr Amy rrr now, urmgh so no rrerr need to rmph worrrry about ourrrr home orrm rrretribution."

          The swordsman made some good points, I agreed with him about most of the bigger picture issues. "We are not normal people anymore and we have abilities that the normal worldly authorities cannot possibly patrol. However, we don't truly belong to any other world either." I scanned the faces around me for emphasis. "The existence of Ariadne's makes it clear that there is a loose collection of changelings that live in the Inbetween places, forging a world for themselves. We might be able to join them…" I shrugged. "But, none of that makes us like the assholes that hung dog carcasses in their garage.” I loosened my long curls with one hand. “I guess my point is, we obey the rules of wherever we are—be it mortal society or other—to the extent that we want to be part of that place or group. Otherwise, we are our own people now and have to do what we can for ourselves."

          I clench my fist and my tone hardened, "Besides, we paid for the use of that rental-house and I’m not going to let the frat-caps bully me away."

          "Plus,” Gavin sense of civic duty came out, “if the normal police can't deal with them, it’s even more our responsibility to help the innocent people of the neighborhood. I don't care if they are fae or not, they don't deserve to be terrorized by the redcaps."

          "It's just not right," Tegan agreed, a fighting spark glinting in her emerald-eyes, "that they get away with hurting anyone or destroying property."

          None of the rest of us bothered to point out all the minor laws that we had all bent or broken, over the last week. Tegan and Gavin clearly believed that the redcaps simply transgressed at a higher order of magnitude. Tallwind just seemed favor doing some damage. Wade effectively joined the other three, whom were generally noncommittal, but seemed likely to go along with majority preferences.

          So, we hashed out some rough plans, mostly anti-redcap preparations, although some additional research. Then seven of us departed our oak-haven. Runner stayed behind, to appease Amaryllis, when she began to panic at the idea of being left alone.

         

The early evening Briar was indistinguishable from its eerie midday self. However, Tegan and Rai once more led us to our destination, without incident—not even stupid-clever hungry birds. At Sheaves & Leaves, our party split up and I headed off in my black Festiva, solo.

          I visited the Shui's liqueur store to try and get more information. Mrs. Shui was on register-duty and I presenter her with a simple gold necklace (which I trued hard to not think of as a collar), one of several trinkets I had purchased for just such occasions. The ancient fu-lady indeed responded more cordially to my inquiries.

          Unfortunately, Mrs. Shui had no new information regarding redcaps, however she did corroborate what I had picked-up at Sheaves & Leaves. Redcaps were violent and cannibalistic; although inclined to gang together, they will turn on their own, at signs of weakness. Redcap have some need to keep their hats wet with fresh blood; rumors suggest that they will weaken or possibly die if their hat is lost or let to dry. Redcaps are legendary alcoholics.

          Mrs. Shui did shed some light on the term “ogre”, though. I had said something like “so, um, is the hat fixation common to all ogres? Like maybe other types have special bets of shoes or something?”

          “No.” the elderly lady waved a hand at my foolish question, while continuing to watch her little television. “Anybody can be ogre. Like you…” she said something in Chinese, “Elf, you seem like elf to me. It about what motivate you.”

          “Uh...” It took a few seconds to form a verifying question. “So, I look like an elf and they look like ogre, hut uh, its also about attitude?”

          Mrs. Shui snorted, what may have been a laugh, “You pick up Summerfire’s Blade of Rust, yes?” I nodded to the reference to my choleric Grace, even though she did not even glance at me. “So, you value fighting? conflict and arguing makes sense for dealing with life?” Another ignored nod from me. “Well, ogres just like smashing and killing. But as spirit-touched you and you inside shows on the outside too. Summerfire Grace shows, even though that is more in you. Redcaps are brutal ogres, so that show too.”

          “So, um,” My mind was starting to reel, “Ogres could be chosen by any seasonal-humor?”

          “Sure.” Mrs. Shui shrugged. “Sneaky, scary, sexy doesn’t matter, always vicious and barbaric, though. Stubborn Summerfire just matches up more often.”

          I sensed that I was about to start rephrasing question, which meant that I was not going to get better at absorbing the dat. Instead, I thanked the fu-proprietor, bowing low, then to the dog at the door, which I believed was Mr. Sui. I then spent several minutes setting in my Festiva furiously writing notes, before I drove off.

          Back in Sheaves & Leaves rare books collection, I was still not mentally prepared to investigate any specific topic. So, I spent a couple of hours to more methodically familiarize myself with various sections available and the types of literature within each. It was essentially an organizational research task, which I found very calling. Plus, I would be much more capable, when next I was ready to seriously research.

 

Eventually, I had killed enough time and I met up with the rest of my comrades at our rental home. Following through with our earlier plan, Tegan and Wade volunteered to stay and as guards the house, in case the 'caps hit our place before heading to theirs. Leaving creepy-stealthy Sol, rocky Gavin, predatory Rai, scarred Tallwind and my luminous-self to go to the frat-caps house and wait in ambush.

          Since all of our (my) research indicated that redcaps only responded to physical strength, our plan was to beat them senseless as proof of our superiority. To maximize our chances of success, we figured that the ‘caps would be most vulnerable when they were drunkenly exiting their vehicle, on what they assumed was safe home-turf. I hid on the far side of the frat-caps’ garage, with my faery-light as dim as I could make it. Considering how active my day had been I was surprised at my level of invigoration, which I had to chalk up to a combination of Amy’s cooking and my own choleric enthusiasm for meeting force with force.

]         Only, that’s not what happened. Instead, while the rest of us lay in wait, to spring upon our foes, Tallwind chose to act independently. The limping wrinkle-wad went into the frat-caps’ house. Fifteen or twenty minutes later, Tallwind hobbled out again, just as the house's kitchen started to glow orange and billow smoke.

          At Gavin’s insistence, the four of us non-arsonists, ran around doing what we could to keep the flames from spreading to neighboring homes. We also woke the neighbors, telling them to call 9-1-1, and using their hoses to dampen the area. Tallwind, meanwhile, made show of doing the same, yet his stiff leg was conveniently acting up more than usual, really slowing him down.

          It was oddly thrilling: the fire was attractive and alarming as any bonfire, yet forbidden in it's arsonous nature, satisfying for it's destruction of enemy property, and frightening for it's potential to spread. Plus, the blaze made sickly enticing smells of cooking meat. I smiled warmly at the likelihood that this would rid us, neighborhood and all, of the redcap menace. However, I did agree with Gavin that for the neighborhood to gain in value, it needed to be saved from burning unchecked. Even so, when the fire-trucks and emergency vehicles stared arriving five or ten minutes later, all four of my cronies and I quickly and discreetly left the scene.

          Our own fireman was furious the whole time. If I could have winnowed from another spirit-touched, Gavin’s rare may have kept me in wyrd for ever. Since, Gavin very vocally held Tallwind responsible for endangering the whole block, the long-fingered fellow wisely chose not to return to our shared lodging. The rest of us felt—or hoped—that the fire would cause the redcaps to leave the area, or come after us more directly. At least, direct would be easier to fight. Nobody expressed their regret that none of the frat-caps had been home, at least not within Gavin’s hearing.

          Needless to say, we still slept in shifts.

         

         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:


	10. Chapter 10

Puffy fluffy wuffy,

Easy breezy wheezy,

Hazy fazy way…

 

Day 9: Wednesday, November 16th

The previous days thorough and satisfying activities had provided me with a weariness well suited to solid slumber. So, in spite of the snoring and rotating redcap watches, I awoke reinvigorated and free of disturbing dream-revelations. Even so, as I rubbed away the sandy-sleep from my eyes, I sighed regretful of not having broken any more amnesia walls in the night.

          Dawn’s light even woke me early enough to get the shower second, after Tegan. So, I was not surprised to find myself humming peppily, as I dressed and broke-down my bedding. A fair part of my good mood was related to continued self-satisfaction at having invested in the air-mattress, pillows, and pajamas—In addition to the sleeping-bag.

Even without vivid nightmarish dreamemberings, all of my housemates spent a fair amount of every morning complaining about and working through muscle kinks, because none of them could be bothered—in the last week—to get more than cheap sleeping bags. I shook my head, while humming and rolling up my bed.

Part of me would have certainly preferred to not repack my bedding into my Festiva, every day. Except, I simply could not trust that any of my unprepared housemates to not simply decide it was okay to use my stuff, if I was not around. Pooling resources was one thing, letting them use my property merely because they could not be bothered to make another trip to Wal-Mart was something else. On the other hand, I was also pretty sure that my mattress's motorized air-compressor irritated the household, every night, as the motor-noise echoed through the empty dwelling. Therefore, even though I thought the pack of snore-generators were hypocritical, I did not put it past most of the to sabotage my air-compressor, if given the chance.

          Plus, the continuing paranoid part of me wanted to be ready to flee, at a moments notice. Assuming that I was in the mundane world, then the odds were that I would have access to my car. So, keeping the bulk of my worldly possessions in the Festiva was only sensible.

          Even so, as I loaded up my car’s hatchback, I mused about how Amaryllis and the oak-haven factored into my emergency-exit plans. The dryad’s tree-house set up was exceptionally protective, especially after my troupe’s binding/enhancement ritual. So, I should probably consider hiking my more valued possession out to my private room, or better yet, getting Gavin to carry the cumbersome stuff for me. On the other hand, even if the haven had a way for me to plug in my air-compressor, my solarium-room was already furnished. So, I closed the hatch, confident that it was just best to continue as I had been..

          Although, a related thought did get me to pause long enough to jot down a couple of note “verify if cars work in Briar” and “verify if electronics work in Briar”.

          As I reentered the kitchen, Tegan informed me that breakfast would still be a few minutes. Apparently the militant lass had been unfamiliar with the differences in cook times between steel-cut oats and instant oatmeal, before she started the project. I fretted at what consistency we might ultimately receive, however saw plenty of chopped nuts and brown sugar, so figures enough toppings could hide any flaws. Besides, I knew better than to criticize food cooked for me, before I have eaten it.

          In the meantime, I moved my TV/radio back into the living room for the day. I was shaking my head again as I plugged in the homes sole piece of “furniture”. I occasionally considered buying a cheap chair or couch, except that my year of freshman dorm living had taught me that other people will use whatever is around, yet only care about how they treat the things for which they had paid. So, until the group was ready to chip in for communal furniture, I would sit on the floor, like a toddler, with the rest of them.

          Since my job at Elements was never going to need me to wake at a specific time in the morning, I no longer really cared about what abuses my indifferent housemates visited upon the TV/radio. So, when I was not using the clock at night, I was willing to leave it out for everyone else. For my generosity, one or the other of my comrades would always have some damn noise pouring out of the devise—uninformative local news, inane talk-radio, or perpetual commercials-sprinkled mixed with yammering DJs and an occasional song. However, without the electronic noisemaker, the conversations were generally the same open-ended uncertainties that we covered the day before. So, for the time being, I found the former to be the lesser of two annoyances.

Breakfast was as overcooked and uninformative as I had expected, which only meant that I did not dawdle. Some loudmouth conservative or other was griping about the election results on the radio, thanks to Wade’s having sat nearest the machine. Even if I agreed with the idiot commentator, I simply could not be bothered to care about mundane politics, with a secret faery society available to think about. The only conversation, that I noticed, was Gavin’s irritated comment about needing to go and check on the damage to the frat-caps’ house.

After rinsing my bowl and placing it in the dishwasher, I escaped the inane conserve-o-speak, into the quiet of the garage. I had intended to just drive off to Ariadne’s Sheaves & Leaves, but noticed my Festiva was looking pretty grimy. So, I used the bucket and rags, which were laying about, to wash my car, inside and out. Since Rai had also left all the rest of his tools in the garage, I also popped the Festiva’s hood for a tune up. Of course, my old friend Jack Schmidt really was a decent guy and had actually sold me a car that did not need ant engine maintenance, yet. I scowled half-heartedly, as I put the tools back, unable to help feeling slightly more irritated at having my mechanics-fun thwarted, than glad for Jack’s decency.

          By the time that I washed my hands and was heading once more out of the house, a still steaming Gavin was walking in. the earthen fellow’s orange skin was still flushed more ruddy than usual, angered to the point of glowing a dim red, like a campfire ember.

 

 

"The arson totaled their house. Looks a little charred from outside, but I could tell it’s a shell." His teeth sounded like gravel grounding together. "The tree out front had caught and a fair portion of the lawn too."

          Tegan, Wade, and I listened passively to the firefighter’s disgusted report. According to Tegan, Sol had curled up in the closet of their room for maximum darkness to sleep the day away. Runner remained with Amy at her oak, as far as we knew. Wisely, Tallwind had still not returned to risk Gavin’s wrath, although a phone call would have been polite.

          Technically, Rai was also present, broad back wedged into a corner of the living room, mighty arms folded over his chest, and long legs crossed at the ankle straight before him. The cat-lad’s eyes looked a bit more turquoise than mint colored and were half-closed and his pointy ears hardly moved. So, I was not convinced that Rai was actually awake. Not that consciousness generally prompted the muscle-bound engineer to join our conversations anyway.

          "If we hadn't hosed down the neighboring houses, they’d definitely have gone up." Gavin seethed some more, as he stood with his brick-fists on his denim clad hips, blocking the little front-door/coat-closet alcove. "I talked to a few neighborhood kids." A hand gestured to indicate heights around four-and-a-half-feet tall. "They said the jerks, who lived at the house, showed up about ten minutes after the fire trucks. Apparently, they poured out of their crappy Geo and started attacking people.” Gavin shook his rough-featured head, more befuddled than angry. “At least two firemen and one neighbor-lady were taken away in ambulances. The kids thought that one of the jerks was subdued, but the rest scattered and got away, completely."

          “So,” Tegan tapped a knuckle to her delicate chin, while supporting that elbow with her other hand, “it sounds like the redcaps scattered. Hopefully, they all just fled the neighborhood for good.”

          “Well, even if they didn’t,” Wade observed dryly, “we’re not going to be able to hunt them down, one by one.”

          “Yeah.” I agreed with both of my cohorts. “At least with them going crazy and attacking firemen, the police are going to be more serious about catching the scumbags, right?”

          “Yeah,” Gavin confirmed my theory, “the FD and the PD have friendly rivalries, but we stick together, when stuff like this happens.”

          “So, the frat-caps’ll probably need to pay more attention to avoiding the cops, than worrying about us.” My hope was evident in tone and facial expression.

          Tegan remained circumspect, “I’m not so sure. I think we should still keep watching our backs. And checking the news for anything about their apprehension.”

          Without anything more to be said or done, at that time, I let the others know where I was going and headed on about my day. The grey drizzly day discouraged driving around for pleasure and encouraged me to follow through with my studies. So, I spent most of the day at Sheaves & Leaves, filling in more of my mental puzzle.

 

The bookstore was a warm hug, after the chill morning dampness, thanks to the temperature change, soothingly book-muted sounds, and aromas of fresh pastries. Passing the front desk, Philomena’s smile and "Good morning, Tommy." was an additional warm squeeze to the embrace feeling.

          "And the same to you," I smiled back and bowed my head in greeting, 'fair Philomena" I was so presently stunned that the cute clerk had remembered my name and my own corny response, that I did not pause to embarrass myself further.

          By the time I had walked the three steps into the tea room, I regretted having not grasped that opportunity to chat with the pretty blonde lady. If Philomena did not like my goofy behavior, then I should find out, rather than assuming the worst. Besides, the worst that could happen would be getting teased or laughed at, it was not as if the receptionist was going to make me fight a manticore or redcap or something. I nodded a promise to myself, to linger at Philomena's desk when next I was passing. For the moment though, I succumbed to the siren call of the rare books, instead of turning around and making good on that promise immediately.

          My internal consternations distracted me through the café. So, I barely noted the few patrons enjoying tea, or that Rosa was present as noises of baking being somewhere back in the kitchen.

          In the member’s only stacks, I re-located a side room which I had scouted the day before. As with the rest of the improbable rare books collection, the room's walls were lined floor to ceiling with shelves full of books. However, the rare value of the space was that in the middle no additional shelves had been added, rather there was a plane wooden set of table and chairs, large enough for four to six people. Of course the table was piled with books, yet there was still room for more. Best of all no-one else was using the room. At least none of the books on the table were open, or book-marked, when I shifted a couple of piles to the chairs, which I would not be using and staked my claim with my backpack and coat..

          With notepad in hand, I started my serious search for more detailed explanations of glamours and other faery magics. I doubted that I would discover how to cast any new glamours. Even if such things were not preciously guarded secrets, Ariadne’s collection simply was not conducive to such learning, with a decided lack of reference works (such as training manuals) and tidbits of useful information being spread far and wide throughout the seemingly endless tomes and volumes. Not to mention that easily half of the collection seemed to be in languages other than English and many of the English texts were in Middle, Old, or even Archaic dialects, all shelved side by side. As entertaining as puzzling through such challenges was, it still meant many hours of selecting books, scanning them briefly, rejecting them for lack of relevancy or understandability, and repeating the process, to compile a list of ideas. Then I had to compare the various ideas to see if they seemed to support each other or not, before I could feel as if I had actually uncovered a fact, rather than some wanderer’s idle musings.

          As expected, I did not learn much of any particular glamours, though I did encounter dozens of accounts of magical effects which may have been glamours. One of the most common was a magical trance which would guide a fae within the mysterious Briar. I nodded knowingly as my thoughts connected to Tegan and Rai’s surefooted leadership through the thorny wood. Mostly, I came across instances of threshing and winnowing wyrd and was reassured that no lasting side effects were ever recorded.

          Additionally, I filled several pages of notes with titles, page numbers, with section and shelf descriptions, of other interesting topics. I looked forward to returning regularly and completing related research goals, as well as just reading some of the more intriguing stories.

          Needless to say, my dear reader,, I provide here for you a condensed digest of my findings. In hopes that you shall be aided in your own understandings of these expansive concepts.

          Everything about being fae seemed to overlap and effect everything else. Like Mrs. Shui’s explanation of physical appearance being affected by internal preferences and beliefs, all of the concepts which I explored seemed to bleed into one another. Faery magic’s two broad overlapping categories were glamours and oaths. The latter included promises, vow, bargains, an all manner of related compacts. Oaths could be short, long, weak, or potent and may or may not involve conscious will and wyrd, though the more binding vows always did. Because of a spirit-touched being more intimately entwined with the Gyr (AKA the underlying fabric of all magic), we are more susceptible to the compulsions and consequences of deals, however I read some implications that we could gain or impart additional mystical benefits beyond the bargain itself. Thus, becoming one of those topics which I had notes to explore in more depth, later.

          Glamours covered any reality warping effect that an individual fae creature produced. Although, glamours which were infused to a location or object, such as a glen or sword or what have you, were also called enchantments. While charms were another name for glamours which affected people, although they could still be related to inanimate things—such as Dorian Grey’s portrait, if my source material was to be believed. So, my perpetual moonlight aura was as much a glamour as my ability to tweak luck or increase my socializing skills.

          Thanks to spirit-touched having been forced open to and essentially perpetually exposed to the underlying forces of reality (i.e. the Gyr), to enact glamours was merely a matter of knowing the secrets which would warp reality in the chosen direction and priming the shift. No mumbo-jumbo or rare materials needed. The priming was accomplished by an injection of wyrd. Although, many glamours also had a trick (or catch or loophole), amongst their secrets, which would allow triggering that glamour, without need of wyrd, while others (such as my glow) were bound directly to the fae’s life-force and simply remained active.

          Rituals (AKA Rites), meanwhile, were glamours that did involve special words and objects and other formulaic aspects to invoke, which did make them more researchable, although I found no specific Rites in my readings. Rituals also seemed designed to either allow, or require, more than one participant, thus creating more potent outcomes. I saw clear connections between the oath magics and rituals, reinforcing the everything-fae-overlaps observation.

          I also found implications that rare mortal’s had successfully learned rituals, usually through a fae bargain. However, I paid the concept little heed, as it was outside any relevance to me any more.

          I set aside trying to understand oaths and rites, largely because it took so many re-readings of my notes and much temple massaging, before I could grasp the fundamental relationships of glamour use. I was especially hung-up on the relevancy of the Gyr, until I was fortunate enough to find a copy of Benjamin Cyclone's book “The Scientific Proofs of Gyr”. Every other source had treated the Gyr as religious, or at least faith based, with directed associations with druids and wiccans and their concepts of Gaea the Earth Goddess. Mr. Cyclone, on the other hand, provided a fairly rigorous argument for the Gyr being a purely natural—albeit ubiquitous across all worlds—phenomena. Explaining that the Gyr was a sort of higher-order electromagnetism. Where the mundane electromagnetic spectrum binds atoms and defines radiation of all sorts (including radio waves and visible light), the Gyr works even more broadly and imperceptibly.

          For the relation of wyrd and glamours to the Gyr, Mr. Cyclone liked the metaphor of wyrd being akin to a refrigerator magnet or turning on a radio, both resulting in a more tangible and localized access to the electromagnetic fields. I found it easier to think of the Gyr as a gun and glamours as bullets and wyrd was pulling the trigger. The whole thing was way more complex and had exceptions, yet that basic metaphor worked for a starting point. Although, one of the more problematic complexities was the Gyr’s intangible and fluctuating presence, which waxed and waned without any predictability. So, while a glamour was activated the same way each time, the efficacy and duration varied depending on the Gyr’s potency at that moment and place. I sighed and muttered, “Typical. And, of course, if anyone has worked out a Gyr detector… a Gyr-counter,” I grinned ruefully, “or a way to regulate outcomes, then they’re too damn paranoid to have shared the knowledge.”

          All was not frustratingly amorphous concepts, though. My studies actually shook apart one of the amnesiatic barriers and the thread- secret spun out to form another glamour in my mind. My blood tingled as it course warm throughout my being, at the memory of Summerfire imparting the lore of thermal comfort. I had wound up dubbing the glamour Summer’s Embrace. I giggled recalling the ease of the trick needed to cast it sans wyrd. Simply spitting out any spark or ember, had been problematic in my Keepers Sky and Cloud domain, however the mundane world would provide me with matches with very little difficulty.

          Also, my day was not completely consumed with dry paper based knowledge. Pausing for lunch, I lucked into benefitting from Chef Rosa’s perspective. The tea room happened to be exceptionally slow, at that time, only one man with luminous color-shifting hair and dressed in an expensively tailored-suit sat in a far corner reading a small stack of newspapers, while sipping tea. So, when I made a clumsy pass at chatting with Rosa, at the counter, she indicated that I should sit at the nearest table and she would deliver my lunch special. I sat dejectedly assuming my attempt at charm had been interpreted as boorish, until the tiny Hispanic lady brought out my food and sat with me, pouring us each china-cups of tea from a matching teapot.

          My mood flared upward and after some pleasant generalities, I made some comment about winnowing, to which Rosa giggled. Then the genial blue and white patterned lass corrected me, while stirring honey into her tea. "Be careful sweets, around here, people can get pretty preachy about word usage. You go out foraging for sources. You winnow a suitable source, once found."

          I nodded understanding. "So, um, anyway," I waved my free hand toward the member's-only door, "I’ve been, uh, trying hard to get up to speed, uh, as it were. Am I correct, um, that wyrd is what we turn people's emotions into?”

          Rosa’s full harlequined-lips and swarthy eyes smiled with amusement, " _Wyrd_." She emphasized the pronunciation as "weird", not "word" as I had done. I nodded my understanding as I chewed and Rosa continued. "Yes, that’s correct, strong emotions offer access to the stuff of wyrd," she exaggerated the word again with a more teasing smile, "in waking mortals."

          I chewed my lower lip. Half an answer and at least two more questions, talking to the exotic chef was almost as obscure as reading the rare books. I sipped some tea, before posing my follow up, "You, um, make it sound like it's not the emotions themselves, uh, that we make into this wyrd stuff." I purposely pronounced it correctly and without particular emphasis, as if I had always said wyrd like that.

          "That’s also correct.' Rosa tried to leave it there, yet succumbed to my wide-eyed pleading gaze. She rolled her own large cinnamon-colored eyes. "Oh, all right. Emotions are just a way to bring mortals’ desires and fantasies to the surface." She sipped her tea and made a dismissive half shrug/head tilt. "Pure dreams are better, of course, but then you have to be sleeping right up against them. Or else you have to deal with trekking through Dreamland. Mind you the former can be fun for other reasons, if you can swing it." Soft brown eyes twinkled amid smirking blue and white diamonds.

          "I read something about the Land of Dreams the other day." I chose to ignore the implied question about my sexual productivity and follow the other conversational thread. "But it sounded like the Briar, or a place in the Briar. And you're saying it is really a way into real people's real dreams?"

          Rosa rocked back laughing and had to place a hand on my arm to steady herself. "Honey, you talk so serious, I forget how fresh off the vine you really are." She wiped joyous tears from her eyes with opposing-colored index fingers. "Dreamland is as much its own place as the Shifty Brambles. They might just overlap a bit more, with each other, than with the Mortal World." She nodded towards the main entrance, her tiny horns remained fixed in place regardless of her expressive brow, however her toque (chef's hat, I looked it up) wobbled with the gesture.

          "So, um… wait a second…" I furrowed my own suntanned-brow, trying to grasp what Rosa had just said and she smiled at my efforts, before I gathered my thoughts enough to ask, "So, uh, your saying that we, um, could go into the Briar, then physically walk to the Dreamlands. Um, then find ourselves in a real person's dreams?"

          As I spoke, a couple of human-looking teenage girls entered the café, they were decked out in many layers of black with an abundance of dark make-up and silver-ish jewelry. Rosa stood and tussled my hair, 'You're doing fine, sweet-pea. Just remember, no matter how hard you try to think your way through a journey, it won't get you to your destination."

          Rosa went to wait on the mortal girls and I knew our conversation was done. As I finished my delicious ham-salad sandwich, the small dining area started to get busy. I considered people-watching (and non-people, for that matter), however Rosa's comments and my food had only fueled my fires to get back to the rare books.

          As a side note, my research also encountered a very long winded dissertation-style paper which seemed dedicated to proving that the common use of "weird" in English was derived from the fae term “wyrd”. Although, I was unable to decipher the author’s reason for the argument, thanks to an abundance of logical fallacies peppering the piece. Still it made me smile, in relation to Rosa’s warning about rampant pedantry amongst Ariadne’s membership.

 

It was the middle of the afternoon by the time that I recognized my head was too full of undigested new thoughts to continue studying, that day. Even so, I smiled and hummed, pleased with my progress, my big-picture mental-puzzle had filled in nicely. There were still gaps, however I felt as if I had identified at least three corners and most of the edge pieces. So, I stacked my books neatly on the table, gathered my belongings, and headed into the lounging garden, for a breath of fresh air and idle contemplation.

          The sky, of the Briar bordered garden, was grey, yet free of the precipitation which vexed the world outside Sheaves & Leaves main entrance. Autumnal aromas of burning leaves and eminent rain showers wafted along on mild breeze.

The air itself was just cool enough to consider wearing my jacket. Instead, I reached into the pocket of my mind where I kept the correct bundle of secrets and the other place were my stored wyrd waited. I bit my lip hesitantly, then decided that the wyrd needed was so minor that I could afford the expense in order to experience the delight of making magic. And casting Summer’s Embrace was delightful, like a sun-drenched summer afternoon was giving me a hug, making the cool breezes felt warm. I almost extended the effect into my faery aura, for I knew that I could, however that would have called on more wyrd and I was not yet so confident that I could forage new sources of the fae-energy.

          As usual, the semi-enclosed yard was occupied by a handful of spirit-touched and a roughly equal number of gamboling lemurs. I wondered if the partially dressed simians were hob or merely trained mundane animals, as found and sat at a small empty stone-table. Folding my jacket into a bundle, I employed it as a cushion on the squat granite pillar which served as a stool.

          I found myself wondering if the mystically potent deal making of spirit-touched would extend to mundane animals. My research had been clearly affirmative about fae beasts and normal humans. Those musings led my still fairly chaotic mind to wonder about the value of reciprocity and gift giving in my new fae culture. I was pleased with myself for having so quickly sussed out the bartering aspect of explicit exchanges, such as for the information which I had received from Peter Dionysus and the Shuis. I was extra-relieved for having had the foresight to not pay the professor in blood, as a couple of the tales which I had just read confirmed many of the magical pitfalls such an exchange could produce. Then, I rubbed my neck nervously as the thought occurred that I had probably overstepped my interaction with Rosa. Since the friendly chef had answered pretty much every question that I had asked, while I avoided her inquires, just because I felt them too personal.

          Even though there had been no formal agreement with Rosa fir the exchange of information, and I really did not think that the specific information she sought was equivalent to the general knowledge of my interest, I still felt like a heel. There was a moment or two wherein I imagined that the Gyr may have been making me feel that way, then concluded that the cause did not actually matter, as long as I could find a way feel better. I believe that I felt my eyes twinkle, as I realized that I could also test another theory, in the process of extending some reciprocity to Rosa.

          The tales which I had been reading inspired me, as well. So, I reached into my pack and laid out my writing gear, then proceeded to compose a poem. In the stories songs, odes, kisses, and the like were often as valued as blood or labor, so I would see if my poetry would be received as suitable tender for Rosa's answers, already freely given.

          "Hello, Tommy, back again I see."

          I looked up into the jovial goateed face of Prof. Dionysus. The faun leaned casually on a folded green-umbrella, in lieu of his walking stick, and was dressed in the same manner as before, although with more yellows than greens.

          "Oh, hello, Professor D." I straightened my posture, to be more conversational. "Are you just coming in, or leaving for the day?"

          "Just came from teaching." The man made a _blech_ -how-boring face which came off slightly demonic because of his horns and hourglass-pupils.

          I smile and gestured to one of the other stool-pillars. "Would you care to sit and chat, a while?" I had just finished my Ode to a Lovely Sandwich. "I was on my way out shortly, but would enjoy the chance to talk to someone more inclined to education, than my housemates seem to be."

          My mild complement was calculated as another form of reciprocity, which seemed to work, as the good doctor accepted my offer. Although, Peter Dionysus had no interest in discussing his day, beyond a disparaging comment about the state of undergraduate mentality, which echoed my jibe regarding my colleagues. I led the conversation, with a recap of what I had been studying in the rare books collection, and the furry-legged faun also appreciated B. Cyclone's treatise. Which led to a wider discussion of favorite literature. Dionysus had a strong interest in biographies, while we both shared an interest in mysteries, though he tended to favor procedurals more than me.

          At some point, the two of us were on the subject of the seasonal–humors, specifically the Graces granted. "No, no, a rare few changelings are errant…" Dionysus saw my quizzical look "That is to say, they have allied with no particular seasonal-humor. Which means, of course, that they are far more hard pressed to make more common alliances with Courts of our kind. Frankly, I don't see any benefit to such a choice at all," he shrugged with palms up and out to his sides, "but some people just won't look after their own best interests."

          My brows remained nit, as I bit my upper lip and tried to parse my companion's meaning. "Um, hold up Doc, I'm not sure what you mean by court, in this context?"

          "Really?" Yellow-ish eyes made brief circles behind half-moon spectacles.

          I made an exaggerated shrug, while pressing mu lips out duckbill-like. "I'm still trying to learn this new lingo. Rosa says that I'm fresh off the vine."

          " _Ah_ ," the crypto-biologist nodded sagely, drawing out the sound, "of course, of course, that does make sense." He paused and ordered his thoughts.

          "Summerfire, chose you," Dionysus waved his hand in an gesture to indicate my obvious manifest Graces, “because of a primary belief system which you share with all of the Wielders of the Blood-Red Spear. With such fundamental morals in common and so easily recognized due to our integrated natures, fae of your disposition tend to align in order to forward their preferred politics. All of the humors do, and we tend to call them courts collectively.”

          "Sure, okay, I get that." I rubbed the back of my neck with one hand. "So like, does that mean all choleric types have tans and so on,” I swept a fan gesture over myself, ”so we identify each other?"

          "Sort of." Dionysus's smile reminded me of Rosa's, like he was looking at a child that just learned how to play a game more complex than tic-tac-toe. "Everyone's visible Grace is unique to them, however it is fairly easy to tell who has allied with whom. And the more committed, or devout, an individual is to their particular humor, the easier it is to tell." He opened his palm towards me. "For example you are noticeably summery. Your hair or eyes alone might be mistaken for a sanguine or melancholic disposition, respectively. However, even then speaking with you for even a few minutes reveals your cholericly tenacious and driven nature. On the other hand," Dr. D actually raised his other palm off to the side, "I once met a mighty choleric warrior, whose every battle played out as animated tattoos all over his body." He turned his palm to himself. "While I have… well what is your guess?"

          I appreciated the distracting question, as I had started recriminating myself for having forget the obvious. Three of my housemates were melancholic and three were sanguine and they all had deferent identifiable Graces. So, I could have answered my own question, had I slowed my thoughts long enough to review them.

          I studied the goat-ish fellow hard and tried to focus my thoughts. I saw all kinds of little tells. It was a good thirty-seconds before Dionysus smiled sympathetically. "Relax, Tommy, just try not to focus so hard."

          I was not sure that I could do that, however I could focus elsewhere. As soon as I concentrated on the wild foliage, in the distance over the professor’s shoulder, the slightly burred peripheral image of Peter Dionysus produced a gentle breeze. The phantom breeze was much moister than the air around us and carried a warmth which I felt, in spite of my Summer's Embrace regulating glamour. Then, I noticed for the first time consciously, that the faun’s finger nails and teeth were tinted ever so slightly green. I discarded the idea that Dionysus was a member of Summerfire’s armies. I nodded, knowing that I liked the professor meant that I wanted us to be ever more similar, than the truth.

          "You're sanguine." I snapped my fingers and pointed. "Graced by Spring…” I floundered a little.

          “Springwood.” Dionysus smiled and nodded approvingly. “Though, sometimes Springair.”

          “And,” I spoke eagerly, “I have been more Graced by Summerfire than you by Spring wood. So, I’m more in tune with my seasonal-humor?”

          Peter rolled his goat-eyes and sighed. "Everything is not a competition, no matter what your humor tells you." He stretched his shoulders and loosened his neck a little. "I should probably mention that we also use court to mean the whole governing body of a territory, as well. Although, that is not excessively confusing, as the rulers share a humor and hold their position through the strength of their mutually aligned colleagues.”

          “Territories and rulers?” I was back to borderline confused.

“Changelings tend to find safety, support, and solace in the company of each other.” Dionysus scratched his beard. “However, our general reticence to trust is weak, so a more formal vow based alliance is common, with centralized rulers to arbitrate any disputes or other peace keeping measures.” He laced his fingers and cracked them as high over his head as he could reach, then yawned widely.

          I cottoned onto the fact that the professor had just come from work and probably wanted to relax, rather than conduct a one-on-one lecture with me. So, I jotted some more notes for future research, while making a quick mental calculation. I decided that I had told Dionysus a couple of personal facts, which balanced well enough the information I had received.

          "Well, Prof," I started to pack my things into my backpack and rise, "like I said, I was mostly on my way out. So, I really appreciate you expanding my vocabulary, though. And I'll be sure to check out those books." I shook the grateful looking faun’s surprisingly soft-skinned yet firm hand, before departing.

          On my way out, I paused at the café. Rosa's smile shifted from normal happy to see people buying her food, to slightly brighter recognition as I reached the front of the queue. "Back again so soon, sugar? What can I get for you this time?"

          "Oh, uh, nothing for me." I smiled back. "I'm, um, heading back into the world for the day. I just, um, wanted to give you this." I handed over the folded piece of notebook paper. "As, uh, a little token of, um, appreciation, for spending time helping me understand stuff."

          Rosa's cinnamon-eyes popped wide, causing her horns to be engulfed in a brow of wrinkles. Taking the paper with caution, the chef red it skeptically. Then Rosa grinned with all her teeth, which sparkled like sugar cubes. "That's delightful, honey… here, you just await a second."

          Before I knew it I was walking out with one of the largest cream filled pastries I had ever seen. I had tried to protest no need as my poem was meant to cover what I had already received, unmoved the girl with the diamond tattoos insisted I had overpaid and the dessert was my due change. So, I chalked my poetry experiment up as a major success.

 

In spite of my best intentions of restraint, my scrumptious pastry did not survive the drive back to the rented ranch-stile suburban shelter. Added to the embarrassment of my sticky hands and face, Tegan walked up the drive, as I was closing the garage door.

The light rain caused the vivacious lass’s auburn hair to slick into a pattern of dark-burgundy lines accentuating her heart-shaped face and long slender neck. Thankfully, Tegan wore her somewhat boxy jacket, because a clinging wet shirt would have caused ne further embarrassment and possibly an injury, straining against my own pants.

Seeing me, Tegan smiled and said, “Hey, Tom, can you get everyone together. I have something to talk about, but first I want to use the bathroom to dry off.”

My sugar rush and abrupt blood-flow reallocation left me so flustered that I actually went along with the instructions. Even to the point of washing up with dish-soap and paper towel, so Tegan could use the bathroom ion piece. Plus, gathering our troupe was about as easy as herding cats, with he added “pleasure” of having to repeat (some times more than once per person), "I don't know what she wants. We just happened to get back at the same time. I don't know where she's been."

          By the time Tegan joined us, looking artfully dried and re-dressed, I had assembled Gavin, Wade, Rai, and Sol in the otherwise empty living room. Our curvaceous colleague now looked as if she had just gotten out of bed in a block-buster romantic-comedy; barefoot, in a fresh pair of skin-tight jeans. green and brown flannel was untucked and unbuttoned at the cuffs (although, still buttoned to her willowy throat), and red-tresses poofed out in a wild and artistic mane. I could not decide if it was more or less unfair that Tegan’s sanguine Grace always enhanced her already amazing beauty. The militarily trained woman wasted no time with preamble, "I went to O'Bleness and snuck into where the firemen and neighbor lady are being kept." Some of my allies stared blankly, so she clarified. "The people that the redcaps attacked." With nods of recognition all around, Tegan continued. "I had to pretend to be a candy-striper, to get past the two cops on duty. At least, all three victims were in the same room, so they could minimize the number of guards needed."

          "Didn't the officers verify your credentials?" Wade’s strain-voiced question came from directly across from Tegan, where he sat on floor with his back to the wall.

          Tegan's crimson cupie-mouth quirked up slightly and she shook her head, churning her currently untamed auburn-waves. "After I stood close to them for a second, I didn’t need a volunteer's badge or uniform or anything."

          Sadly, it clearly took most of the room more than a moment to realize that Tegan was referring to her perpetually-hypnotic glamour-scented aura. Even with my Keeper-caused inability to track time and many events, I still felt that my comrades powers were important enough to remember, without needing my notes.

          "Anyway," Tegan rolled her iridescent-jewel eyes, "the victims were in critical condition, all three of them. So, since no one was watching, I used my Breath of Vitality gift to help them, like I did with Amy."

          I chose to not sidetrack my distractible associates with a pedantic correction. I would share my research of the so-called gifts being glamours and what that meant later. Assuming, of course, that any of my housemates expressed any interest in such details. Plus, I was busy joining Gavin, Sol, and Wade, in ribbing Tegan about her having to make-out with all of the patients to use that Breath of Vitality.

          Rai seemed distracted by the rain on the window. However, a rich-pink blush filled Tegan's freckled-cheeks, then her whole heart-shaped face, then poured down her alabaster neck.

          " _Nooo_ ," Tegan insisted, trying to quell our catcalls, as the blush started to reach her wrists, "it was not like that. In fact, that’s part of why I tried it anyway. I wanted to see if… contact was necessary." She continued speaking quickly, in order to curtail a new round of jeering. "As it turns out, I only have to breathe on the person in need. So, no kissing, or even touching."

          "And then they were healed?" Wade asked seriously, while wiping mirth-filled steel-grey eyes with hatch-work hands. "How did the hospital staff respond?'

          Tegan shrugged. "I didn’t hang around to see the staff's reaction. But, the victims weren’t completely healed, either. They just seem improved. Like their bodies were under less stress, but their wounds remained… I think there's more about my gift to suss out…” Tegan shrugged again, as she started speaking more speculatively, ”maybe Amy had some magic or something that boosted my gift with her…"

          I got distracted, at that point... or, more accurately, I distracted myself with a bitten cheek and any other techniques that came to mind. Tegan's shrugs having nearly stunned me, as she had apparently bought at least two pairs of jeans and flannel-shirts, but no spare bra, after changing from the rain. I vaguely registered Sol suggesting, with a pale smirk, "Maybe physical contact is needed, for more effective healing." Which led to more teasing—of which I did not participate, for fear that my vivid imagination would add too much detail to my jibes.

          As for Tegan's own assessment of needing more practice with casting glamour's, I could only offer a silent amen and hope that my other housemates started to feel the same way. Starting over in the mundane world was difficult enough, without ignoring valuable resources, simply because they are magical. On the other hand, my research had also suggested that in order to accurately recall the correct secrets of a glamour, most spirit-touched must remember in detail the “lessons” forced into them by their Keepers. So, the way in which my Master had messed with my ability to remember was a very small boon.

Tegan’s debriefing over, we spread about the house and pondered privately. After the cloudy darkness had turned to proper night, communal dinner preparations began. It was about then that Tallwind hobbled in through the side door.

          Wade and I, working in the kitchen, merely nodded to the damp wrinkle-skinned fellow as he passed through. However, Tallwind did not seem to get past the living room before Gavin could be heard confronting him. Since I had far more stake in eating a nice meal, than the argument, I only caught bits and pieces of what was said.

          The gist was that Gavin kept insisting that Tallwind admit to having endangered the neighborhood and promise to not start any more fires ever. Tallwind, in turn, steadfastly refused to accept responsibility for the fire "… and no-one got hurt, anyway". Eventually, the big orange blocky fellow reached his limit and stomped out the front door, plod through the wet suburban night. Which I interpreted as Gavin secretly agreeing with Tallwind’s actions, or else the earthen fireman could have physically punished the spindly-fingered arsonist in a much more definitive manner.

          Tallwind was then able to spend some time in the bathroom drying off, before he reported to the rest of us. "I went in and the place was filthy: garbage, old liquor and beer bottles, and half eaten meat, everywhere." He raised his right hand, stick-fingers pointing up like a row of bamboo. "Some of that meat looked like it had never been warmer than body temperature. The fridge was packed full of meat and only meat," he lowered his hand, "and I won't swear that there was no people parts in there." Tallwind stood near the kitchen door and spoke up so everyone could hear.

          "In the bedrooms, every bed had a bucket next to it. At first, I hoped the buckets where full of red paint, but it was blood—bright and fresh. A couple of the pales had ball-caps soaking in them." Tallwind took a deep drink of his bottled water.

          I imagined that it would be a while before the scar covered ex-PI drank red wine again.

          "I wanted to do something, you know, to maybe slow the redcaps down or weaken them.” Loose skin slid counter point to a slow head-shake. “So, I collected up the buckets and dumped ‘em into the kitchen sink." Tallwind's face wrinkled up, even more, in disgust at the memory. "As the blood poured out, it instantly coagulated and darkened, like it was days older than in the buckets. Then, I left." There was a pause, while dull-brown eyes defiantly conveyed that's-my-story-and-I’m-sticking-to-it. "Maybe, whatever negative juju was in that blood started the fire. But I can't be expected to have known."

          Shortly after our sloppy-Joes, oven fries, and mixed-greens salad, was served up, Gavin returned. Without comment Tallwind wolfed down his food and retired to the room he shared with Rai and Runner. Sol also ate quickly, except that she sped out the side-door, saying, "I'll be at the hospital, for a while."

          Gavin prepared a heaping helping and ate silently, while Tallwind was still present. To head off any renewal of hostilities, I prompted, “So, Gavin? You, uh, looking forward to our first official night working at Elements?"

          My eyes widened with surprise when the rough-hewn fellow seemed to honestly have remembered. Although, as a agreed upon obligation, the Gyr may have provided a metaphysical reminder. I added a smile to my renewed surprise, when none of the others took Gavin up on his offer to ride along. So, I would not have to worry about my housemates creating foraging related problems for me at my job.

 

Where none of the rest of our gang came along, good luck did follow me to work. According to my bartending coworker and the evening’s two waitresses--Justin, Emily, and Sarah—the crowd was both larger and better tippers than usual for a Wednesday. Plus, I was able to capitalize on the additional bonus of a couple of drunken jocks getting into a rage filled fight over a sports statistic. Before Gavin was able to push passed the gawkers and expel the two louts, I was able to winnow a satisfying amount of wyrd from the duo. It had been warm and tasty, like a good beer and juicy hamburger.

          I was even able to concentrate past the flavor-scent-sensation of the anger, to “feel” more of the underlying desires to pummel one another, which was the real source of the wyrd. I could tell that both jocks deeply believed that showing off their physical brutality would not only prove their point, but also would impress the crowd, especially the females. I could not help blurting out a laugh, as it was obvious to me that pity was the kindest expression on any of the young ladies faces. On the other hand, I still could not quite grasp the transition of a strangers rage-exposed imaginings into my reserve of mystical wyrd energy.

          Getting to bust up the fight had raised Gavin’s mood, almost as much as mine. So, our ride home, after closing, was a pleasant recounting of our mutual success.

          The remained thick and low overhead, making the night feel darker than usual. The rain had ceased, though. The unseasonable warmth had not continued into the wee hours, so Gavin shivered a little, until my Festiva warmed up. Meanwhile, Elements provided matchbooks, so I had been able to cast Summer’s Embrace about myself, thanks to one of the handful of booklets that I had pocketed.

          I had asked Justin about why we provided matches, since the club was strictly non-smoking. My fellow mycologist rolled his eyes. “Owner’s think it’s a hilarious ironic hipster thing.” He shrugged. “Besides, smokers can still use then in the parking lot.”

          Something felt odd about the rental house, as Gavin and I parked in the garage. However, before I could mention my trepidation to my red-orange cohort, who was manually close the garage door, Tegan entered the area looking serious.

          "It's the frat-caps," I predicted morbidly, a knot forming in my gut, "they’ve came back."

          Tegan, blinked slightly pink-rimmed emeralds at me, hid a yawn with one delicate hand, and rubbed her eyes with the other. "What? Oh, uh, no. No sign of the 'caps."

          I had mistaken bored-sleepiness for grim-seriousness, probably due in no small part to my own fatigue. The ravishing redhead was at her most no-nonsense, suited up for hiking—jeans tucked into boots, jacket zipped all the way, silky hair in two tight bud-like buns to the rear of her head. Tegan turned her next yawn into a huffed out overly-exaggerated exasperated breath, "Jeez, it's about time you two got back." She shouldered passed me and Gavin, grabbing at our jacket sleeves. "Come on, Tommy, you need to drive us to Sheaves & leaves."

          I almost dropped my rolled up air mattress in the jostling. "What? Why? Are they even open?" I did start putting my gear back in my Festiva's hatch, though.

          "There's something we want to do back at the oak tree and we need everybody to be present. All the others are already there. " That was effectively all that Tegan would say. When Gavin or I pressed for more information during the car ride, the petite lady countered with something like, "It's not bad, so don't worry." Or more often "I can't explain it well, Amy will do it better in the morning."

          Gavin seemed to enjoy anticipating the surprise, so did not press very hard for information. I could tell that Tegan was tired of dealing with a magical concept that was hard to articulate. So, I stopped pushing too.

          In fact I may been even more tired than the lithe lady. I was certainly so exhausted by the time that I pulled into Ariadne's Sheaves & Leaves, I do not really remember parking. Then Tegan had been moving so much faster than my fatigued legs wanted to go, that I did not have the time to register much about the spirit-touched bookstore after dark. I know that the three of us used a side door to enter and the interior was much more shadowy. Then, the next thing I remember, Tegan was tromping us through the garden and then into the pitch darkness of the Tangled Briar.

          The thick old foliage would have been as dark as dark could be, if not for my fae luminance. Even so, beyond maybe five paces from me, the world was a sheet of solid black, from which gnarled trees and spiny shrubs seem to form as we plodded on. Thanks to the limited spectrum light of my aura, everything shades of moonlight greys. I did my best to ignore the scents of blood and the echoey sound of out of sink footsteps.

          In truth, in my sleep deprived state, I had to focus so hard on not losing our shapely guide that I did not really have the wherewithal to fret about the increased dangers which must stalk the mystical forest by night. Tegan led with a silent single-mindedness which added to the eeriness, though.

          I released a deep breath of relief, which I had not known that I was holding, when our trio stepped into the starlit clearing of Amy’s oak. It was good that Tegan had already claimed that we would be doing whatever mysterious thing in the morning, as I would never have stayed awake for any more activities. I barely registered climbing the various plank-stairs and rope-bridges to my room, although did have vague impressions of an athletic dryad helping to guide and support me, along the way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:


	11. Chapter 11

_Zzzzzzzzz_ …

         

Day 10: Thursday, November 17th

The sunrise poured in and washed my room’s golden-oak ceiling and far wall in warm rainbows. Even with only a wardrobe, desk chair, and roll-top desk to look at, my little solarium seemed full, compared to barren rooms of the rental-house in Athens.

Not that I did immediately start imagining how I wanted to fill the desk, wardrobe, and walls with books and art and clothes. I sighed contentedly.

          My comfort compounded by my prone position. When I had at first inspected my haven-bed, I had been dubious about the relatively thin mattress which seemed to be stuffed with feathers and sawdust. However, the mattress combined with its latticework support structure of ropy-vines, made for the most comfortable sleep that I could remember. Adding the cozy down filled pillow and comforter, only meant that I doubted that I could ever have a bad dream therein. Although, my eyelids did keep sagging back shut, as I was finding it hard to extricate myself from the soothing comfort.

          Then, two supple-wooden feminine arms emerged from my primitive-style dark-wooden headboard. The well-toned limbs proceeded to press gently, yet firmly, against my shoulders, shaking me. Amy's elegant oval face and shoulder emerged a moment later, matching up with her arms, as if she had merely leaned through a shadow, not solid wood. The dryad’s features effectively hovered over my own face, upside down to my perspective, her luxuriant crimson and gold hair cascading down like a curtain next to my left ear.

"Get up, get up, get up!" Amaryllis spoke with the joyful exuberance of a child on Christmas morning.

          Amy’s long curly curtain swayed and swept with her motion, bushing my pillow and cheek. Washing me in an aromatic cloud of rich sweet-earthiness, fresh leaves, and delicate hints of aged lightly-spiced lumber. The locks were silky soft on my skin and I regretted that my pajama top prevent the perfumed strands from caressing more of my flesh.

          Seeing that I was indeed awake, Amaryllis stopped shaking, yet remained breathy with excitement, "Everyone else is waiting. You need to get fed and get started."

          “Uh, started doing wa…” I attempted to learn more, however the attractive lass just melted back into my headboard—her silken-mane sweeping my face from chin to crown and rustling like leaves, as she went.

A moment later Amaryllis's torso appeared from the wall, next to my bed, looking much like an animate masthead from an old sailing ship. The tree-spirit wore a corset which seemed to be made of large autumnal oak-leaves. Although, the garment did seem to be defying certain physical laws, as it appeared to be backless… unless it was glued, or taped, in place? But, then where would Amy have gotten such products? Plus, how could that possibly provide enough support to create such compressed and ample cleavage?

          "They will tell you while you eat," Amy's resonant clarinet-violin voice, yanked me from my mental reveries. The lithe lass clapped her hands, sounding of small wooden cups being brought together. "Come on, the sooner you start, the sooner you will finish."

          I mumbled several okays and alrights, while attempting to make placating gestures and climb out of bed, at the same time. Once the perky tree-girl saw that I was properly out up and moving, she faded—literally—into the woodwork.

          I wanted a shower, as much for hygiene purposes as to get a sense of how the plumbing in a magic tree-fort functioned. However, I doubted that Amy would put up with the logistics of me having to descend a couple of floors to the main bath, then back up again to drop off my sleepwear, then back down again to the dining room, not to mention the bathing time itself. Since, as far as I understood the situation, Amaryllis regulated the water temperature and pressure, I concluded that the was no need to provide her the opportunity to inceptive my quicker preparations. Thus, I used the closer half-bath, just one door over, and settled for a wash-cloth rinse-off, after my toilet. At least, I also had fresh underwear, socks, jeans and a rust colored polo shirt, which made me feel even less grimy.

          I did dawdle a little on my way to breakfast, though. It was the first time that I could appreciate the trip through the leaves and branches, having been too excited or exhausted previously. It was quite beautiful. The stairs, outside of my room’s door, were almost a ladder formed from branches which looked too have grown spontaneously into the correct pattern. A couple of narrow rope bridges with viny handrails helped to circumnavigate the trunk. Yet, for the most part wide branches made easy footpaths. I could have entered the living room via its roof and the corkscrew stairs therein, however I continued on my scenic route and eventually made my way down, passing the full bath, to entered the common rooms through the side door.

          Breakfast was vegan, yet turned out to be delicious and filling. I was not going switch over to the animal-product free diet. However as long as Amaryllis could make nuts, vegetables, grains, and fruit that interesting, I certainly was not going to complain about the food, either.

          That said, the accommodating dryad had told us that we could request preferred meals. So, amongst the generally mumbled breakfast small talk, I did get Amy’s attention to ask, “Uh, this is a really, um nice breakfast and all. Um, but, can we get omelets? Or, just eggs?... like, uh, not every day necessarily.”

"Eggs? Ummm…" Amy bit the right side of her full lower-lip and looked off into an unfocused distance, curling and uncurling a lock of her red-orange-yellow hair around a couple of fingers, "Yes, well, sure, I suppose I could get eggs." Glossy dark-umber eyes refocused on me. "Enough to have an meal?" She sounded like that was a lot.

          "Well, uh, yeah." Uncertainty had entered my thoughts and voice. "I know you said that requests may take a day or two, but uh, you said to ask… And I, um, figure eggs are pretty common, right?"

          The dryad just nodded, again focused off in deep thought, and then melded into the kitchen wall.

          I could not guess why the eggs seemed like a complex logistics problem for Amy, so I made a mental note to try and discuss it with her later. In the meantime, my and Gavin’s bowls of nit and berry laden oatmeal were being overlaid with a barrage of news. Specifically each of our housemates wanted to make sure that we heard their interpretation of why we had been gathered together.

          There was a lot of "Amy mentioned we could…", "So I was thinking…", "I sort of remembered from when we joined with the haven…", "Then I said…", "I said we should ask Amy…" and so on, mostly excited. The commentaries tumbled over each other, as one person would think that they had my attention, another speaker Gavin's, and another both of us. Plus, of course there were the inevitable unnecessary corrections, "No, that was Kyle, not Leroy…", “she didn’t say that until later…”, sort of things. Added to the repetition, as no-one seemed to be listening to anyone else.

I sighed and pouted at my warm cereal, as the situation reminded me of one of the major short-coming about working night-shifts. Since most everyone else is up during the day, that is when they all get together and make plans or have fun. Meanwhile Gavin and I were toiling away and had barely slept at all. In this case, I did not mind very much, as I agreed with the essential conclusions. Besides, even if Gavin and I disagreed, our two votes would not have altered the majority-rule decision. Even so, I would have liked the chance to at least try and sway the others to have put off the event, so I could have slept in a couple of more hours.

          The central theme of the verbal deluge was home improvements. It had become clear to the group that we could continue to modify our haven. Only three conditions needed to be met: all eight residents and Amy had to agree about changes, all nine people would have to participate in another tree-circle ritual, and everyone had to provide more of the same energies to the process.

          As far as I could tell, otter-esque Runner and Amy had had championed the idea of further strengthening the oaks defenses. The whisker-faced fellow stressed, “Rereremembererer Amy saus rrr its not just urgh about makin’ thickererer walls an’ doors. Rrirr the magic’ll also rrmph obscurererere the clearing from rrur any strangers trying irr to find it, orrrr us, if we’rerere inside.”

          Apparently, according to the information torrent, home-security talks had led to speculations of safe-rooms and back doors. It was Tallwind’s flat-gruffness that claimed, “… didn’t see no point in getting stuck in the basement, or wherever, if someone was layin’ siege. If nothin’ else a bolt-hole would let a couple of us circle ‘round behind any attackers.” He drank some fresh squeezed apple juice. “Hell, even rabbits are smart enough to dig an escape route.”

          “That’s when,“ Tegan took over the narrative, “Amy says, ‘I'm sure you all could muster enough will, to open a portal, for sneak aways’ and something about how she said it made me think she wasn’t just talking about a tunnel into the woods.”

          Without much more clarification, it was made clear that the other six residents had agreed to making a magical door as soon as everyone could be gathered together. Amaryllis had abstained from the voting, claiming completely neutral disinterest on the matter, beyond likely the improved defensives. So, with breakfast eaten, we marched outside, while Amy cleared the dishes.

          Around the base of the oak-s trunk, Amy once more positioned each of us, just so, while she leaned out of the tree doing her living-prow impression. When I inquired, the dryad bobbed her head from side to side, and a few leaves came twirling free overhead, “It’s not crucial, but since there are eight of you, aligning to the primary and secondary compass points helps get everything started.”

          “So, um,” I followed up, as warm wooden hands guided mine to the trunk, “can you, uh, explain what we’re, um, about to do?”

          “That will be easier, once we have started.” Amy flashed me satisfied smile, as she seemed to glide along the trunk to the next person in our circle.

          Just as a few days earlier, once everyone was in position, Amy’s voice seemed to come from the branches above, “Alright, everyone, relax and let yourself fall into my trunk.”

The relaxing was literal, the “falling in” was more metaphorical. I once more found myself in a shared mental/emotional other-space with Amaryllis and the other seven. I still saw and felt the bark beneath my outstretched hands, yet I also saw each compass point participants—including myself—as if I were standing in front of them, with their hands on my hips. Our mind-to-mind sharing was less thorough than I had imagined telepathy would work, yet much more clear than just talking. Every opinion or questions was automatically bundled with a sense of confidence, silliness, or whatever other state of mind was behind the communication. Sometimes images, scents, or sounds would also pass back and forth. So, the whole process seemed much more efficient and honest.

          Unfortunately, fair reader, such clarity escaped my grasp, as soon as our job was done and the connection disengaged. Thus, what follows is my best attempt to describe what was “discussed”, while also avoiding spinning off down tangential details, of which I only have sort of impression.

          The presence-sensation of Amaryllis revealed-established for our collective some of the fundamental secrets-methods of the ever-changing Briar. Mixed in were hints of how certain aspects could be made significantly more stable. More importantly were the bits that involved folding-denying distance and relation-resonance to the mortal world. I also realized that I not only understood why Amy had not tried to explain the elaborate ritual glamour, but also that she could not have done so without the additional mental capacity of the shared state. Truthfully, I suspected that no single consciousness could have contained the knowledge. The Amaryllis presence-sensation establish-quantified the limits of our collectives goal as, “A specific portal exit point requires one of the collective to have a very, very strong familiarity with the destination. Otherwise, the underlying forces will guide the rooting point to a place of least resistance, within the parameters provided”

          At least, that was how I remember-translated the information. I was fairly sure that most of the words were my own mind’s choosing. Although, “portal” was definitively how Amaryllis referred to the back-door which we sought to establish.

          Then-concurrently, options for our portal’s exit point were bandied about: London, New York, Miami, the remote wilds of Colorado, anywhere in California, Hawaii, and others. The one constant-necessity was that wherever the portal led, English needed to be the primary language of the local populous. Some of our collective were more inexplicably proud of that caveat-desire-need than others. Our collective was also baffled at the disappointment my presence-sensation projected-implied, although they did not perceive-identify that the feeling was at there narrow-mindedness. On the other hand, I shared as much or more of the anxieties flowing, in regards to picking-knowing the best, safest, and most beneficial destination.

My presence-sensation emoted-speculated about what sort of spirit-touched communities might be in such far distant places. While firmly establish-observing that Athens Ohio seemed like a foolish choice. “If the portal is truly to provide an escape from imagined overwhelming threat, then Athens can’t possibly be far enough away>”

          “It’s familiar.” “Not that close.” “outside of Briar based threats.” The image-articulations echoed together. At least, half of our collective had somehow imagined that Athens Ohio was the be-all and end-all of changeling life. As the moderately-sized Midwestern college-town was the only path from the Briar to the mundane or that spirit-touched in the mortal world flocked to Athens, like sparrows to Capistrano.

My presence-sensation establish-reported the relevant-useful aspects of my recent rare book readings. Which caused our collective to fret even more about venturing beyond the simple streets of borderline rural Athens. As much as I wanted to believe that the helpful spirit-touched of Ariadne’s Sheaves & leaves would be the norm, concerns about the redcaps made me agree that maximum caution was wise. Although, I refused to accept Athens as a tactical retreat point.

“If the imaginary enemy found us in our well defended haven, then they can walk the half-hour to seek us in Athens.” I countered-clarified. “Besides, a major metropolis will provide a large population to get lost in, as well as 24-hour conveniences, if we are in desperate need of any supplies.”

          The Amaryllis presence-sensation eventually “sighed” exasperated-bored, “More than one portal may be opened, or with a longer ritual this one redirected… Although, it may take time to recover from the strain- effort-sacrifice, if more than one portal is made right now.”

          "Strain- effort-sacrifice?!" "What kind of strain- effort-sacrifice?" the presence sensations of Tallwind-Milton, Gavin-Hank, Wade-Ken, and Tegan-Gerri, express-emoted with varying levels of paranoia-curiosity.

          The oak’s leaves rustled in a shrug. The Amaryllis presence sensation establish-qualified an amount of energy-will-essence-spirit and plus an expanse of time, based on our collective’s current abilities-will-etcetera. My presence sensation speculated-observed, “We take the desire-fantasies of mortals, converted them to wyrd, and they’re fine—by all accounts. But, we can’t do that to each other, except like this.”

          The Amaryllis presence sensation did not agree-believe that the source was they same as my presence sensation had claim-theorized. However, the Amaryllis presence sensation was able to confirm-reassure for our collective that what we each gave was a naturally renewing part of our individual lives-selves.

“So,” My presence-sensation posited-revealed, “our shadows. The same thing that fetch-shadow-eaters take from mortal-normal-people?”

The Amaryllis presence-sensation was unfamiliar-ignorant of shadow-eaters, yet agree-confirmed that the impression-imagery I had relayed seemed to match up. Thus, my presence-sensation felt reassured that what would be employed-sacrificed would regrow-replenish, as well as being elated-thankful that we all retained a shadow in that respect—another connection back to our humanity. Our collective echoed the emotion-theory and was able to narrow down our choices.

          The criteria-inclinations for our collective’s first portal resolved into a desire-hope for more civilization, someplace touristy so that we could blend in easily, yet with inexpensive options for food and the like. My presence-sensation did my best to refrain from sharing my pity-disappointment at the number of our collective who had settled for the lowest paying menial employment—If any at all.

          Our collective discarded-discounted many cities such as Las Angeles, London, and Honolulu because we worried that the real places would not coincide well with what our media-influenced imaginations expected. Florida’s infamously awful humidity and apparently endless insanity (as reported by a long line of news outlets), discounted Orlando and Miami. The presence-sensation of Rai-Leroy was the only advocate-proposer for New York City. Even in mind-to-mind contact, the phlegmatic presence-sensation of Rai-Leroy was inscrutable-stoic-uncommunicative, so our collective was unable to get anything more elucidating or convincing than the equivalent of "I think-express that the portal should connect to New York". So, our collective settled-agreed to majority rule and went with Las Vegas.

          Even as the negotiation-contemplations had been taking place, the Amaryllis presence-sensation directed our collectives intent-desire for the oak-haven’s fortifications. Most of the security was extended into the great shifting pattern of the Briar. The only tangible-visual result was the feeling of walls becoming denser, spike-thorns sprouting along exposed eaves and edges, the growth of a sturdy latched-gate at the foot of the exterior trunk spiral-stairs.

          The improved security and much more complex magic-portal took until past dawn the following day. The presence-sensation of Amaryllis distracted-suppressed our collectives fatigue, so we did not nod off. Amy’s actual form appeared from the trunk, before each of us in turn, to hand feed each individual nuts and berries. Relieving ourselves were the only times that the Amaryllis presence-sensation would allow any of our collective to move from their compass position. Even then, at least one hand was required to maintain contact with the tree or one of its strictures at all times—possible, yet trickier than it sounds.

          In the end though, the payoff was spectacular… We had opened a door!

         

         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:


	12. Chapter 12

Day 11: Friday, November 18th

As the eight of us filed our way up and into our have, with Amaryllis performing her floating-face-on-the-trunk maneuver, I observed with raised eyebrows, “Huh? I’m not tired or exhausted at all. We _have_ been up for over twenty-four hours, right?”

          “I thought all of that mind stuff was in our subconscious.” Gavin’s voice came from a few steps behind me on the stairs. “So, we like did it in our sleep.”

          “Rrr like licod urm dreaming.” Runner agreed from even further back.

          Amy giggled from bark to our rights. “No, that’s silly. The Dreamlands would have only complicated things.” Her smooth face slid through the rough bark, to keep pace and level with my own. “You are not tired because, during the ritual exchange, you all received enough of the oak’s vitality to compensate, for your lack of sleep.”

          “Is that dangerous for the tree?” Tegan’s concern came from near the front of our line.

          The leaves rustled, without a breeze, several falling loose. Amaryllis replied, “I sped the abscission of half of the leaves. Since It’s autumn, they were all going to fall out within a moon’s turn, anyway.“

          Trouping through our main entrance, our procession went straight through and down the much tighter spiral which led into the trunk. I had been thinking of the recreation room, in the haven’s trunk, as a basement. Even though technically at ground level there had been no other entry, than the stairs down, plus basements are where rec-rooms went. This, of course, meant that Sol’s room had to be considered a sub-basement. On the other hand (or limb), Amy claimed that Sol’s room was in her roots and that her trunk was solid through, in spite of the chambers in question. So, perhaps what I called the areas was meaningless, as I could not even wrap my head around the impossible physics.

          I had not had the time to fully appreciate the enormous vat-like hot-tub, which dominated two-thirds of the circular room, or the inset shelves of seemingly hand-crafted board-games which lined an arc over a plane table and chairs. Nor, was this the time for any of us to start such observations. The nine of us were instead committed to admiring he fruit of our metaphysical labors.

          While Amaryllis insisted that it was called a portal, what we had wrought/built/grown looked like any other door, that had been masterfully carved from a single solid-sheet of oak and accented with a polished terracotta knob and hinges. Two facts belied the mundane appearance of the door-portal. First no corresponding frame or opening was detectible from the trunks exterior. Considering the diameter of the exterior trunk and the rec-room within, there should be no way for the door to hand in the wall without penetrating the exterior oak. Again, I had to close my eyes and shake the non-magical thinking out of my head. The other factor which gave away the portal’s special nature, was the spectacular bit that I mentioned earlier, it opened onto the Nevada desert.

          “It’s…” Tegan blinked her emerald-greens around the room. “It’s in the south part of the wall? I thought It would have been the west, like for more direct line to Las Vegas.”

          I was impressed that The redhead could tell the direction. Although, Rai nodded knowing agreement.

          “South by south-south east, actually.” Amy clarified more than corrected, from her place, upper-body protruding from the wall beside the door. “Path of least resistance.” She shrugged, threaten-teasing an overflow of her corset. “Something about the Briar and the destination, meant hear was easiest.”

          I was glad that someone else had asked a weird-physics question for a change, however I felt there was a more pressing issue, “So, are we going through or what?”

          A brief discussion resulted in a general and qualified affirmative. Amy showed no interest in departing the oak. I wondered if the dryad even could leave, however decided to save that for a one-on-one conversation, because I had the feeling it would be considered a personal question. To Amy’s great relief, Rai claimed to want to stay at the oak for general protection. Although, I thought it was pretty clear that the large panther-lad was just continuing to mope over being outvoted for New York. The rest of us just wanted to get showered and gather up some supplies for walking around in the desert climate.

          The door opened to reveal a very shadowy alcove of natural red-stone. Our septet passed through the opening, in eager succession. I tried to sense the passage of over two-thousand miles, as I took a single step across the threshold, yet only perceived the altered air quality.

While the temperature had not changed much from within the Briar, the ambient moisture had noticeably vanished. The exterior of our portal was located in the niche of an overhang, at the base of a towering red-tinted butte. Desert scrub and other buttes spread out before us. The expansive clear pale-blue sky dwarfed the rugged landscape. The western horizon was still dark-navy with the last vestiges of night; confirming that we were at least three time-zone from where we had started.

          As the seven of us took in the vistas, Tegan, Wade, and Tallwind spoke in near unison, "Red Rock Canyon."

I had not known the name, however I recognized the landscape, as well. Practically a kajillionth car commercials had been filmed on and around these iconic rock formations. Not that I was devoting much brain-power to identifying the view, considering that I was still coping with having just teleported across a goodly portion of the continent! I wondered if I should re-read C. S. Lewis’s writing, as he must have had some insight into this aspect of fae existence.

          Meanwhile my traveling companions each coped with the impossible journey in their own ways. Gruff private-eye Tallwind, rigid ROTC-cadet Tegan, and stern-faced fencing-instructor Wade were each attempting to cling to familiar concepts, like names, in order to place their minds more within the physical location. Long whiskered Runner moved in short sudden bursts, from nearby rock to scrub-brush and so forth, touching and sniffing to more directly connect. Sallow Sol clung to the shadows of the bluff and, like me, looked around in wonderment. Although, I also shared some of gravelly Gavin’s interest to just focus on our allies, using them as gauges for how cool or worried to play it.

          On the other hand, I was becoming quite adept at processing astonishing magical phenomena. I grabbed mental snap-shots for later sorting. With no obvious threat or danger present, I did linger a bit more than usual on the exceptionalism of the moment, though.

          The low eastern sun made the reddish landscape nearly purple with long-stretched shadows, below a fairly cloudless turquoise sky. The early morning temperature was closer to what we had been experiencing at midday back in Ohio. No animal noises came to us, though they may not have been able to penetrate the gusting winds which seemed to roll around overhead. The scent of sun baked earth was full and pervasive.

          All of us took about five minutes to adjust to our new environment. In addition to removing jackets and double-checking water supplies, each of us made certain that we could get back in and out of the portal.         From that side, our “door” was an eight-foot boulder which covered the rectangular portal. All of us remembered, from our ritual bonding, a triggering sequence of ridges to press on the boulder which would cause it to slide effortlessly open of closed. After verifying that our whole party could shift the boulder-door, we also did our best to memorize the area, so that we could find the place again. Then, still calling out useful landmarks to each other, we headed away from the magic doorway.

          We all knew that the chilled November morning would not last long in the desert, however our most outdoorsy trio—Tegan, Runner, and Tallwind—agreed that it was unlikely to get hotter than the low eighties, at most. Even so, none of us could guess how long we would have to be walking through the arid countryside. At least, our preparation and ability to retreat kept the situation from seeming dire. Except, possibly, for Sol, whose day-sickness had her looking as waxy and wan as ever, even with the large black-umbrella which she had produced to use as a parasol.

          For my comfort, I pulled out a book of “Elements” branded matches. It took several matches and more spiting than I was pleased with, but I was finally able to dowse one of the tiny flames, while also concentrating on the correct thoughts and feelings to trick my Summer’s Embrace glamour into effect, without depleting my wyrd reserves. Even as I sighed in thermal relief, I shook my head with personal embarrassment. Luckily, by walking in a group, I was able to rely on my peripheral vision and the positions of my comrades to prevent me from walking over anything—like a cliff or rattlesnake. Thus, I was able to use my handy pocket notepad to list several reminders “get sturdier matches”, “Get baggy to carry spitty matches”, “Get handkerchief for wiping spitty hands”, “practice spit accuracy”, as well as the landmarks needed to relocate our portal.

          When not notating, I appreciated the scenery. TV and movies failed to do Red Rock Canyon justice. The size and shape of rock formations and plants were almost enough to have me believing that I was on an alien planet; soil and vegetation colors more vibrantly shifted to pure primary and secondary colors, than Ohio. Also, the isolated sense generated from the lack, or sign, of other people. All of which was subliminally reinforced from having probably seen science-fiction features which had been filmed in that State Park.

          Early on Runner asked the group, “So, rrr we just walk urr straight and hope forrr the best?”

          “Not exactly,” Tegan had less confidence than usual from her position in the lead. “Before leaving the oak, I was able to use my Finding gift to get a feel for the best direction…” She shrugged. “the gift doesn’t work outside of the Briar though, so I can’t really get another reading.”

          “’Sall right.” Tallwind shaded his squinting eyes with one elongated hand. “I was out here in the ‘90s. Odds are we’ll come across some campsites, no matter what. But, I’m pretty sure we’ll hit the scenic throughway, going this direction.”

          “Yeah, I-250.” Wad agreed. “I was hear nine… well no, I guess twenty-three years ago, now. For my honeymoon.” The scarred fellow sneered. “And the interstate loops the park, so we’ll hit it eventually, as long as we maintain a straight line.”

          “Yep,” Tallwind nodded his wobbly face. “Then its just a matter of heading east for about fifteen miles.”

          There was a collective groan, at the distance. However, we all remained fairly confident of our abilities, after having opened a door through reality. So, we soldiered on.

          It was perhaps a half-hour, after starting our trek, when Gavin casually pointed fifteen or sixteen wards off to our side, “Hey, is that one of the monkeys from Sheaves & leaves?”

          The fellow with skin the color of our surroundings was at least partially correct. A vest wearing lemur was leaning against a cactus and drinking front a tiny canteen. So, it certainly acted like one of the simians from Ariadne’s lounging garden, though none of us had any way to tell if it came form there, or some nearer portion of the Briar. The lemur did tip the top of its canteen to its brow, in a sort of salute, but then shouldered the container and scuttled off on all fours at an oblique angle to our own path..

          ten or fifteen minutes later, Runner indicated two “men”, standing high up a bluff. We could just make out the pair were cherry-red from head to toe and leaned on black tridents. Gavin smiled and waved broadly, which the crimson duo may or may not have noticed, based on their imperceptible reaction.

          We had a run of luck, thereafter. First we came upon the paved interstate. Then, after only another five or so minutes, we found ourselves at the visitors' center. The tourist hub, in turn, provided regular busses into Las Vegas, for a price, of course.

As we waited for the next bus, I pointed out to my cohorts, "At $14.95, plus tax, per one way bus trip, getting to and from Vegas looks like it might get pretty expensive pretty quick."

          “Yeah,” Wade rubbed his chin and cheek with one harsh-marred hand, “while everyone was getting ready, I got Amy to clarify that moving the portal’s anchor point will take like three days>”

          “What?! Why?!” Tallwind was the most incredulous, so beat the rest of us to the questions.”

          Wade shrugged, “Apparently magic messes with all the fundamental concepts, including that entropy is easier than creation. Amy’s claim was it’ll take two days to safely…” dull grey eyes search the sky for the exact words, “un-grow" the portal. Then one to regrow it to the new spot.” He shook his head and rubbed his chin some more. “I thought that sounded tedious, at best. But now, considering the hiking time and cost to get back and forth, I’m thinking it would be worth it to find a good spot in Vegas proper and go ahead with the move.”

It was quickly and ominously agreed that we would move the portal exit point. Everyone also promised to spend some time scouting potential locations, with an eye to several general criteria—unobtrusiveness,, easy access, not on private property, and so on. The resulting _thing-mmm_ was relatively gossamer, as the agree was made over fairly vague specifics, like “some time” could mean as little as a few seconds glance.

My climate nullifying glamour had worn off, as we entered the visitor's area, which was fine as the natural temperature had risen to comfortable level, by then. So I experienced the environment normally for a while, rather than fuss with the cheap matches and spitting at my hand. Thus, I got the full blast of air-conditioning, as we loaded into the bus, of which our septet made up the bulk of passengers. A normal-mortal couple, sat near the equally unchanged driver, and a changeling chap who sat near the rear. My group did not crowd the stranger, yet did sit clustered around the spirit-touched.

          The elfin featured fellow had deep-blue skin and a bright white smile which showed elongated canines. He wore a panama hat, sunglasses on a cord, a camera around his neck, cargo shorts, flip-flops, and a Hawaiian shirt. I was reminded of the equally cobalt-colored fellow, from in the Law section of Sheaves & Leaves. Except that the blue-tourist did not seem nearly as pretentious or predatory. Although, the azure elf did start flirting with the sickly Sol, which was astonishing to me, since Tegan had sat just as close. So, the chap may have been fundamentally broken.

          "Have you some venture here?" the man asked politely, around sharp fangs and in an accent that seemed European mixed with something more exotic.

          "We're just visiting." Raspy Wade took the lead for us, "We had an opportunity open up, so we took it."

          Our party smiled and nodded confirmation. I was especially pleased that my weather-worn companion had the wherewithal to keep our gang's personal business vague.

          "Ah, yes, it is lovely in this territory." Blue suggested, glancing out the window over Wade's sturdy shoulder.

          "Is this your first visit?" Wade asked.

          "No," the sharp white smile replied in cheerful rolling tones, "I try to come by every so often."

          "Is there anything that you would recommend that we should do or see," our spokes swordsman lowered his voice briefly, "or avoid or watch out for?" his voice returned to normal, "while we're here?"

          Blue considered a moment. "Well, that depends on your interests. If you are mainly interested in the rush of human emotion, the casinos are all quite good. Of course, you should take care to be respectful at Mandalay Bay and the Mirage. If you are more inclined to something more dangerous," he purred the word, "there are a few places to go; the drains, for example."

          "Oh, really?" Sol asked, excited and flirty, she leaned over the back of the seat next to the stranger to join the conversation. Admittedly, the pale lass’s manner and appearance had risen quite a bit, once we were within the cooled bus with its thoroughly tinted windows.

          "Certainly," the dark-blue fellow continued to purr as he flirted back. "It would be my pleasure to show you sometime."

          "Uh," Tegan cut in. I could not tell if she was jealous, or just trying to stay on topic. "Why're those two particular casinos special? Are there more…" she paused, vaguely gesturing, while trying to think of a euphemism for changelings.

          Blue got the idea and seemed surprised at our naïveté. He remained friendly and cheerful though. In a lowered voice, "The Duchies of Gold and Silver reside there, respectively, yes."

          Sol slid slinkily into the seat next to the blue tourist and had a few low murmured private-words. The rest of us rode the rest of the way in contemplation.

I pouted, disappointed that we could not ask the friendly cobalt-traveler more directly about what the Duchies were. Also, I could not recall anything from my recent study sessions. My trusty pocket notebook did remind me of Peter Dionysus’s comments about “courts”, but I could not be sure that “duchy” was being used synonymously. As I reviewed the notes further, I saw that feudal phrases had actually cropped up pretty often, in my readings—kings, seneschals, knights, courts, and the like. At the time, I had assumed that I was just seeing historical literature. In light of The professor and the blue-tourist’s comments, I adjusted my assumptions to allow for the likelihood that spirit-touched may be adhering to relatively archaic social structures. Mostly, I chewed y lip, wondering what such things would mean in terms of etiquette.

          Six of us disembarked at the first stop, the Venetian Casino-Resort. Wan, yet flirtatious, Sol chose to ride a ways further with the nice bluish fanged-elf. I smiled at my cohorts, especially Gavin and Tegan, for appearing to have come to terms with Sol being a capable adult and not needing the buddy-system.

          The Venetian’s entryway was pumped full of artificial floral scented perfume, causing most of our party to gag reflexively on the artificial chemicals. However, Tegan collapsed, a few steps into the main hall, just passed the noxious fumes. I could only speculate that Tegan’s own floral fae-nature had been at the root of her woes, as she soldiered up in short order and refused to discus the matter. Although, the typically limber lass continued to seem unsteady.

          Meanwhile, Tallwind, Runner, and Wade each pointed out that a handful of Venetian employees had taken note of Tegan’s stumble, without moving to aid. Each of the employees was also notable as probably being other spirit-touched—the pale-haunted store clerk, the gaunt living-statue on a plinth, the dark-eyed pale-skinned gondolier, and so on. The gazes which we received from those individuals seemed more calculating or accusatory than concerned. So, our group decided to pass through the vile perfume and make a plan outside.

          “Rrirr That was rrr weird,” Runner looked over his sturdy shoulder at the Venetian’s façade, “even forrrr us.”

“Yeah.” I also took the measure of the elaborate exterior, “It’s too bad Sollllanna,” I unintentionally stretched the name as I attempted to insert the True Name at the last moment, “she’d probably get along with all the pale employees.” I looked to the group and shrugged. “Pretty cool indoor canals, though.”

          The rest of our group just muttered noncommittally. Although, Gavin was rolling his blue marble-eyes from side to side, looking for danger, "I don’t like the way Gerri reacted."

          "Yeah, it was… unpleasant.“ Tegan agreed, with a careful nod ”I hope all the casinos aren't like this."

          " _Nah_ ," Tallwind’s sarcasm was almost a sneer, "they couldn't be."

          "How about this," I chimed in to try and get going, "we all have our phones right?" After general nods and affirmations, I added. "Then let's split up into smaller groups and check out as many casinos as possible? See if the are any that seem better."

          It took a few more rounds of the same, before everyone felt comfortable with agreeing to my plan. Even than, it only sold because Gavin was so keen on reinstituting the buddy system, as I knew he would. Each of us verified that our cell phones were charged and had each others’ numbers set as speed-dials. Then, we split into teams, divvied up the Strip, set regular check in times, and headed off. As Gavin pushed forward into the unrelenting press of the crowded Sin City thoroughfare, I resolved to also get a sense of what the local spirit-touched presence was like, especially their attitudes towards strangers.

          Sol's pointy-toothed date turned out to have been speaking the truth, regarding foraging for wyrd. In every casino, it took hardly any time to find some mortal indulging in rage fantasies brought on from their failed “fool proof” system, or their spouse's failed system, or that their fiancée had cheated with a hooker, or whatever it happened to be. Gavin confirmed that he was also finding fear fueled imaginings, often brought on by the exact same stimuli. Check ins with our sanguine compatriots confirmed the same for them, as well. The wyrd was so available that it was more a test of restraint than a lesson in foraging.

          I found that in order to regulate my wyrd-sobriety it was easiest to simply keep burning off a little through glamour use. Whenever my Summer’s Embrace would fade, I would recast it without the match trick. Thanks to the inconsistent nature of the Gyr, I sometimes needed call up that glamour a few times within a single casino. I also tossed out some Fickle Fortune and Fortune’s Favor, picking gamblers at whim.

          It was exceptionally useful to be paired up with Gavin, as the muscular fellow readily plowed furrows through the teaming throngs. I had worried that my orange cohort’s gorgeously chatty nature would be tiresome, as I attempted to study our environs. However, Gavin either did not, or possibly notice, when I simply ignored him.

          The rough-hewn rocky fellow and I scouted over half a dozen resort-casinos. No other location proved as repellent as the Venetian, though most were not aesthetically to my tastes. Every casino contained at least a few obvious spirit-touched—half animal, flaming hair, scales, or some unnatural color, making them visible at a distance. So, there were probably plenty more like Tegan or myself, normal enough without close scrutiny. Generally, the other spirit-touched were working as dealers, waitrons, security, or entertainers. Although, there were also always a couple of changeling tourist types gambling or rubbernecking, so Gavin and I did not stand out as unusual. Where the Venetian changelings had viewed or group with hostile disdain, everywhere else that I caught a fellow changeling noticing me or my brackish companion did so with the same benign curiosity as any normal person simply viewing our Masques.

          Comparatively, while traveling outside between casinos, I only spotted a handful of other spirit-touched. Admittedly, it was harder to people watch in the ever-present crush of other pedestrians, even with Gavin’s prow-like aid. Plus, while outside the few other fae were more intent on keeping their heads down and making it to wherever they were headed.

In general my other housemates reported, over our designated check in phone calls, similar experiences at the casinos which they visited. Tallwind went so far as to arrogantly proclaim, "They’d probably all react like the Venetian, if all seven of us barged in together.”

          "Or," Tegan suggested when I had relayed Tallwind’s theory, “we just looked like a bunch of embarrassing rubes. Either way, I agree that traveling in a large pack is what got us the negative glance."

          "Maybe," I shared with Tegan, what I had not bothered to tell Tallwind because of his superiority attitude, "but I saw a bachelor party of easily ten elemental looking dudes—fire, earth, and even a couple of watery one—and they weren’t getting the stink eye at Aria.”."

          Passing through one of the indistinguishable and cacophonous slot-rooms, I tested my glamour's of fortune on a couple of the manmade machines. I won enough to make up for the "paycheck" which I had spent on house paint at the beginning of the week. Even though I was being surreptitious, I did not heed the clanging call to make more money. I knew that no matter how careful I was, too much winning would draw a casino pit-boss’s unwanted attention. Plus, the day mission was to scout for new portal locations and the gambling would be there for me later.

Unfortunately, marble-gazed Gavin saw me win and bragged about it to the rest of our collective, when we gathered for an early-bird dinner.

“Well, hey,” Tegan beamed at me with twinkling green eyes and dimpled cheeks, “that means he can treat!”

The curvaceous lass may have been teasing, however by then I was feeling heady from so much wyrd and probably had let my guard down against the Tegan’s seductive faery-aroma. At least, I was able to find a $10 buffet, so my too-lazy-to-use-their-own-magic confederates did not eat all of my profit. Over dinner, we decided to visit Mandalay Bay en mass. Tegan and Tallwind both agreed that even if traveling in a large group made more than just the Venetian staff nervous, we should still watch each others backs in one of the places that we had been told was a duchy.

 

My immediate initial reaction to Mandalay Bay was more positive than previous casino-resorts. An abundance of potted and hanging live plants both reduced the slot-machine claxons and the amount of cigarette smoke choking the air. Otherwise, the ‘Bay was like the other casinos, shiny neon-accented areas full of bells and whistles, wide-open marbled halls for access to check-in desks or stores or restaurants, 24-hour nightclubs and feature-act theaters discreetly off to the sides. The gambling sprawled in open floor-plans, while the entries to the various eateries or entertainments seemed small. Although, some places did offer tantalizing peaks inside, like the restaurant, Aureole, where attractive women in Rockette-style tuxedos, rose and fell on massive bungee cords, inside a three-story glass-sided wine-rack.

          Our group's strength-in-numbers integrity lasted all of ten minutes, once we entered Mandalay Bay. Tallwind, Runner, and Wade each wandered off at various points. Each man claimed that they would only be gone a minute and would catch up, though Wade had also mumbled something about a system, as he headed to the roulette wheels. Apparently, since our gang did not suffer immediate attack or ejection, then only the fae gathering area (wherever it may be) was to be worried about.

          “This is it.” Tegan whispered, her eyes half lidded and tans-like, when she, Gavin, and I approached the Shark Reef Aquarium entrance.

          I blinked at the auburn-haired beauty, “I thought your finding stuff glamour only worked in the briar>” I also kept my voice down.

          “Mostly,” Tegan shrugged. “Only thing it seems good for out here is to sense when I’m close to places like Sheaves ^ Leaves.” She nodded to the ticket booth. “And this is one of those.”

I hid my frown of jealousy that Tegan’s cool glamour caused, by getting out my phone and instructing my companions to do the same. We contacted our other allies, while waiting in the queue, so they joined us by the time we had reached the ticket booth.

The ticket seller was tall thin lady with flame-red snake-eyes, vertical nose slits, and short opalescent green-black almost-feathery hair. When our party arrived at the Plexiglas enclosure, the attendant's salmon-red forked tongue flicked out once—tasting our auras perhaps, in surreptitious tone she asked, “Will you be wanting backstage passes?”

Clearly we passed the taste-test. A brief discussion followed in which we learned that guests could purchase either three day or three month passes for twenty-five or a hundred-and-fifty bucks respectively. The sample passes contained no pernicious fine-print, just reasonable expectations of polite conduct. All of my comrades followed my lead and opted for the short term ticket to start. The resulting _twang-thrum_ sensation, of the related membership agreement, reminded me the one I had experienced upon joining Ariadne's rare books club, as if two different instruments had played the same sustained note. The six of us draped the laminated lanyards about our necks and headed into the aquarium exhibit.

Shark Reef easily lived up to its name, with several of almost every species of the toothy fish, as well as dozens of habitats full of other sea-life. At one point our sextet passed through a tunnel of glass, sharks swam like eerie clouds to either side and above. The sheer mundane ingenuity of the place’s construction, as well as what must have gone into transporting the ocean dwellers so far into a desert, had my mouth dropping open fairly often. The increasingly jaded part of my mind did point out that I had no real reason to believe that the whole affair was actually mundane, even so I felt that it was impressive.

Certainly, there was at least one mystical alcove, none of the mortal patrons even seemed to notice it. Within the alcove resided an archway, spanned by a gold velvet rope. Like at Ariadne’s the rope supported a plaque, although it read “Duchy Business Only”. The was also a band f metal inlay into the circumference of the archway. Unlike Sheaves & Leaves main entrance the only marking on the threshold band was evenly spaced heraldic circles of red with crossed gold keys within.

“Brass.” Wade’s dry voice sounded almost mechanic, as he glances at the metal plaque, the to the band. “Also brass with red and yellow gold.”

Tallwind just sniffed and nodded, as if to say the observation was obvious.

          Beyond the rope-barrier a darkened stairwell led down. The six of us passed through and headed down. The stairs were ten or twelve feet wide and every twenty or so made a landing and a switchback in direction. After the second landing the concrete stairs gave way to reddish stone, of which the walls and stairs seemed to be a singular piece.

          I lost track of the number of landings, we exited a cave mouth and the last few stories of stairway were an open shiny-metal spiral—aluminum, according to Wade. There was a vast and softly light cavern before us, full of lush foliage and sounds both of nature and people. A waterfall could be seen further along the same wall as our egress. Mixed with the rushing water were sounds of birds, musical instruments, laughter, and jumbled conversations. The twilight illumination seemed to come form scores of sources, ranging lamps to bioluminescent lichen to the air itself and lots of thing in between. The temperature stayed a steady cool comfortable and the smells did not engulf us until we had reached the cave floor..

          We would come to learn in short enough order that the jungle-cave was a primary part of the Golden Duchy (also called Duchy d’Or), itself called the Gardens of Paradise, Gardens of Pleasure, or Pleasure Gardens. Lush and fanciful night foliage grew and bloomed throughout. Clustered in glens and clearing, spirit-touched gambled. It was unmistakably another casino, yet the birdsong, insect, waterfalls (two more were spotted), and lack of any electronica made the resultant cacophony far more melodic than any of the mundane locations above.

          My party fanned out, in order to see more overall, yet kept visual tabs on one another. Most of the gambling had what I was coming to think of as a fae twist: throwing bones for fortunes, while others bet on the outcome, or an elaborate multi-person set-up which used rune-tiles like dominos, and so on. As well as, some mundane games like Mahjong, or variant on poker.

Food and drink came in all colors and unusual containers. A food court of sorts occupied a portion of on of the cavern’s walls, although plenty of changeling employees wandered the crowds with trays of goods strapped around their necks.

As the refreshment sellers seemed to be the least preoccupied Duchy representatives, I chose to approach one of them for better guidance. The lass I selected looked youthful, with richly tanned skin and reddish-brown hair, including on her large bushy squirrel-like tail. The large-eyed girl’s tray was laden with bags of roasted nuts and she sported a brass nametag which proclaimed her to be “Cherish”.

          "Pardon me," I stepped in front of her, "Uh, Cherish? Yes, um, I was hoping that you could direct me to, uh, an information booth?"

          The vulnerable looking employee blinked her double-large chestnut-brown eyes, while her button-nose and tufty-round ears twitched. "I am not sure what you mean, sir? You wish to purchase some knowledge?"

          "Ah, um," I looked around uncertain—suave as ever, “not exactly. Uh, I’m new here and this place is sort of, um, like a mall... So, uh, I thought that there might be a desk, or uh directory or something, where I could get a map and maybe some other information?"

          "Oh…" Cherish nodded, without any sign of understanding, "Would you like a nut?" A perky gesture to the tray before her.

          "Uh, no," I sighed, "not right now." I took a breath, collected my thoughts, and tried again. "I would like to speak with someone, uh, that can explain…" I just waved my hand to encompass the cavernous gardens. "And, perhaps, go over rules of etiquette and, um, other acceptable behaviors here."

          " _Oh!_ " Comprehension and solution raised Cherish's brows and ears. "You're looking for a concierge."

          I nodded enthusiastically, assuming that if a concierge was not what I wanted then perhaps they could direct me better. Following Cherish’s large, swaying, fluffy brown tail, Wade fell in step beside me; a boon to the squirrelly lass, as it was Wade who instructed me in the importance of tipping her for the assistance. Not that spending more of my money was a suitable way to compensate me for the sniggering and teasing the ex-fencer directed my way, for my clumsy attempts to communicate with the exceptionally cute girl. At least, Cherish favored me with a smile when she left us at the concierge lounge.

The lounge, to which the nut seller had led us, was centrally located in the enormous cave, on a mound, ringed by a red-velvet rope, and covered with pillows and cushions. Various customers, of even more varied spirit-touched appearances, did in fact lounge about the cushions, drinking from crystal glasses or smoking rainbow-hued smokes from hookahs. After only a few seconds, a willowy woman literally glided over, her billowing and diaphanous robes just skimming the tops of the pillows. The sky-blue garment moved of its own accord, as if caught in a personalized updraft, as did the concierge’s cloud colored and textured hair.

          "May I help you gentlemen?" the concierge's voice was light and melodic and her eyes the electric green of heat-lightning.

          "I… uh, that is we," I waggled my thumb between Wade and myself, "were interested in, um, information."

          "Only information?" the concierge arched eyebrows and tone suggested that I was being short sighted.

          "Well, uh," I rubbed the back of my neck and squinted, "we’re very new and, uh, don't know where to start. And we're, um, concerned that we may accidently offend. So, uh, if we could get a, um, primer of where things are and maybe some general manners pointers…” I shrugged and blinked hopefully. “That's, uh, really the only sort of help that we're looking for. Um, at the moment." I consciously kept my feet from shuffling apologetically.

          "Certainly, we could provide some basic etiquette." The shocking-green eyes softened, as she gracefully bow her head.

          "And they, um, will also be able to answer questions about local, uh, groups?" I glanced to Wade for any other ideas.

          Wade merely blinked his steely grey eyes.

          The ephemeral lady seemed slightly confused. "We would endeavor to meet all your needs."

          "And, uh, how much do you, um, ask for this service?" It had occurred to me that this was not a typical mundane free-service situation.

          "You may retain twenty-four hours of access to one of our guides for one-hundred dollars." Thin pink lips smiled encouragingly.

          I gulped. “Ah, um, do you, uh, accept paper currency?" I asked for future reference. If I was going to spend that much on a guide, then I would be doing it when I felt more confident that IO could use most of the twenty-four hours.

          "Certainly,” the wispy-drifty lady’s smile became the polite mask which service industry people presented to dimwitted customers, whom they do not wish to insult, “we have arrangements made for such exchanges." The bright eyes flicked to the cavern entrance and the mortal casino beyond.

          After thanking the concierge, Wade and I sought our comrades. Gavin, simply stood nearby, staring at everything, mouth agape. The rough-edged weightlifter indicated that Tegan was in a particular stand of very tall bamboo. Before the three of us could enter, Tegan exited the pole-like cluster. We had lost track of Runner and Tallwind for the moment. So, the four of us found a quiet space under some purplish boughs were Tegan could tell us what she had discovered, while also watching for our other two companions.

          “A nice Japanese sort of bamboo-dryad was happy to swap some information about Athens for this place.” Tegan relayed. “The short version is that the spirit-touched of Vegas," emerald eyes sparkled with excitement, lantern lights, and my own luminous aura, "and surrounding lands, belong to the Red Court of the Western Territories. d'Or is one duchy within the greater court and d’Argent is the other one, also within city limits." Rose-red lips purse to one side, with a recollecting pause. "The Red Court’s currently governed by the heads of the Red Spade faction.” Tegan bit her lower lip and fluttered a hand at me. “I think they’re like the summer humor thing you had mentioned, before.”

          I smiled, pleased that Tegan of all of my cohorts had been listening to my reports.

          “The Queen…” Tegan’s viridescent orbs scanned a nowhere distance, looking for the right name. “Pataya, or Patyaya, or something like that, rules from her court, somewhere in Red Rock. While King… Tamerlane, rules from Xanadu, the City Below, here."

          I pulled out my notepad and took notes, especially reminders to look refresh my memory of the historical Tamerlane and Coleridge’s Kubla Kahn poem. I also grinned with the realization that Tegan had effective saved me the money for a concierge-guide, so I also forgave her for spending my winnings on everyone’s dinner. Then I startled when Runner spoke, having joined our conference from the far side of the monolithic Gavin.

          "So, urm the King’s arararound hererere somewhere rrgh?" Whiskery-face craned from side to side, looking for sign of the monarch.

          Tegan shook her head, "No, I don't think so. This is Duchy d'Or, I got the impression that Xanadu is nearby, though. Apparently, there’s a bunch of different turfs and territories and the changeling stiff overlaps but not the others.”

          “Other?” my eyes snapped to Tegan’s. “What others?”

          The limber lass raised and lowered one shoulder. “She didn’t really go into that much. Called them barbarians and Broken Ones, but I’m not sure if that’s two names for one group or two, or if there are different groups of each.”

          Wade shrugged angular shoulders, resting scared hands on his hips, "Barbarians could mean all sorts of things, to these people." As if he was not spirit-touched, as well. "It could be their slang for the mafia, or corporate assholes, or lawyers, or just tourists." Wade shook his head, in disgust.

          Tegan's deep-pink lips set firm, as her head shook slowly. "No… It was clear that she was talking about others with gifts, or powers, or whatever. And they’re dangerous."

          "Oh, crap." My voice was flat with unwanted suspicion. "It's going to be vampires… or werewolves, or both." I received incredulous stares, to which I responded with a flourish of my hand, to indicate our surroundings. "Since magic and fairytales are real, I'm betting that all of the rest of the stories are real too. So, vampires and werewolves, zombies and creatures from the Black Lagoon, and all of it." My head tilted to the side. "Although, monstrous fish-men seem to be loners and Tegan’s talking about groups."

          "Maybe they're just no good, rotten spirit-touch," Tallwind grumbled, "like those redcap bastards."

          I startled again, as the limpy fellow had come up behind me without my noticing. I recovered quickly though, "Whatever the case, the locals call them barbarians and say be careful, so we should take extra care."

Tegan had more to say, however I was to distracted with thoughts of movie monsters and precautionary steps to pay attention. The lithe redhead was finished speaking when Gavin nudged me with a sharp elbow, “"Hey, Tommy, shouldn't we get going? Don't we have shifts at Elements tonight?"

          I groaned, as those mundane pieces of my life twirled to the forefront of my mind. Gavin and I had completely missed Thursday, while creating the magic portal. Plus, with the time difference between Nevada and Ohio, I doubted that we’d be able to get back to Elements on time for that evening.

          So, we all made as much haste as we could back to Red Rock and our boulder-portal. Even Sol responded to our texts and met us at the bus. As far as I could tell the others were just tired, however talk of barbarian monsters may have contributed to their eagerness to depart Sin City.

          Luck was with us, all the way. The bus ride was uneventful. Once back in the desert, we each confirmed that with concentration, we got a tingle at the tip of our noses when facing the direction of our portal home. At the haven, Rai agreed to lead us to Sheaves & Leaves. Tegan even said that she would show up at the bookstore later to guide me and Gavin back.

          Theoretically, any of us could find our own way between Ariadne’s Sheaves & Leaves and our oak-haven. However, Tegan and Rai’s glamours always made the journeys quicker, through the ever-altered Briar. Not to mention that the Thorn Woods varied from gloomy and ominous to downright terrifying, so having more people on a trek always felt safer.

          I did call a brief halt on our way out, though, as I recognized a snozberry bush, from the fruit Prof. Dionysus had shared with me. The plump-knobbly burgundy berries were as thick around as my thumb. The bush was roughly three-feet in diameter and height, with brown-speckled dark-green heart-shaped leaves, half the size of my palm. Each branch also sprouted dozens of sharp curved thorns, each as long as any of my knuckle-bones. I wanted to stuff my pockets, however the surprisingly warm and weighty fruit proved to be as delicate as raspberries and the thorns were tricky to avoid. Plus, I was later for work. So, I settled for three snozberries, which I could carry comfortably in hand.

My companions chose not to pick any berries. I did my best to believe that they were all simply cowards and not that they thought I was lying about the sating effects of the snozberry.

 

I was again too introspective to notice much about Sheaves & Leaves nighttime appearance, beyond that it was darker and quieter than the daylight hours. As our little troupe passed through the mundane portion of the bookstore, I stopped at the entry desk. I was mildly disappointed to see that the cute Philomena was not present. I sighed, accepting that the lisping blond was entitled to time off and because carrying the snozberries had already grown tiresome. Meanwhile the only battement visible was a long-haired black cat, sitting on the desk.

          I stood before the large old-desk and played a hunch. Of the cat I asked, "Are you working the desk tonight?"

          The cat sat in a sphinx position, stared at me, slowly lowered and raised its eyelids once, then inclined its head forward and back slightly. Either the animal nodded to my question, or it was just a cat, I chose to believe the former. I then placed two snozberries on the desk, "Please give one to Philomena, you can have the other."

          I almost missed the tiny _ping-hm_ , because of my allies’ sniggering at my action. Then, the feline deftly flipped an empty glass over, covering one berry, before proceeding to eat the other. My comrades’ slack jaws were quite vindicating, as I prodded Gavin into my Festiva and the two of us left the others to their own entertainments.

 

My luck held strong, as Gavin and I stood in our Manager’s cramped closet-office, apologizing for missing the previous day. Dave made a bemused face "I didn't think you were scheduled for yesterday?" After checking a clipboard, which hung next to him on a nail, "Yeah… um, nope, closing Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays and opening on Sundays. Plus, close on Thanksgiving."

          "Oh," I covered for my memory gaff, "that must have been my mistake. I saw the Thanksgiving Thursday and just plugged in all the rest in my mental calendar." I smiled, ruefully wondering if I would ever again be able to really create a mental calendar. " _Phew_ , I had myself real worried there, thinking I missed my second day on the job. I'll text myself a copy of the schedule to make sure it doesn't happen again."

          "That's cool, I can text it for you." The manager offered. "You should just get behind the bar."

          I was actually more rattled than I had let on. If I had forgotten my own employment schedule—something very important to me—then what else had I not been tracking. I resolved to not only continue with my note taking and journaling, but also to review my writings at least once per day.

          Along with my ongoing amnesia issues, I really noticed for the first time how dull the normal population had become to me. Perhaps it was a consequence of having winnowed so much wyrd in Las Vegas, or just an overall settling of my mind. Whatever the case, even dolled-up club-going co-eds seemed to lack vibrancy. Unfortunately, my musings and mild malaise caused me to slip up and I let a party of five skip out on their tab.

          So, I got more focused on my job. Luckily, Fridays were so busy that even after covering the cost of the deadbeat drinkers, I made more money than Wednesday. Gavin still had to wait for Sunday to get paid with the rest of the staff, so I kept quiet about my pay, rather than cause any waves.

          “Hey, Tommy,” Gavin observed, in my little black Festiva, after work, “I think we should go by our place here in town.” His chin scratch sounded like raking pavement. “I don’t think any of us have been there in days and the redcaps might still be an issue.”

          I agreed and drove to the rented ranch-style. Pulling closer to our place, I saw that the garage door was down as it should be, but the light was on inside. The rest of the house remained dark. I pointed this out to Gavin and asked, "Just me, or does that seem odd to you?"

          "It’s weird.' My reddish-orange passenger replied without hesitation. "I mean, it could be someone just forgot to turn the light off, but I was thinking it felt wrong, even before you mentioned it."

          So, I drove passed our house and parked around the corner. The two of us snuck back to the garage, on foot, my faery aura damped as low as I could get it. Through the small grimy windows, all either of us could make out was that something was hanging from the rafters, shadows swaying gently in the sixty-watt light.

          "So," I gulped then whispered, "I'm thinking the redcaps left a dead dog in there, like they had in their garage."

          Gavin gently tugged my jacket sleeve, around the garage, until we were out of sight of any of our house’s windows, then he whispered back, "Yeah, that seems pretty likely. But I'm worried it's also bait. Like there's a pipe-bomb, or something, rigged to the door, if we open it."

          "Sure," I nodded, continuing to keeping my voice low and my stomach from flopping, "or they might even be waiting in ambush, inside the house." I had been scanning the nearby shadows and felt confident that no enemies lurked there.

          The perpetually unfocused part of my mind wondered about the bad-mojo repelling salt cleansing that I had gone through on Monday. I had to assume that it been a useless mundane misinterpretation of a glamour. On the other hand, Rai’s Suzuki had been in parts all over the garage, so I had skipped that area.

          Meanwhile, Gavin and I quickly decided to assume the frat-caps were waiting within and that we needed back up. After sneaking back to my Festiva, the two of is dialed through our limited contact lists. I got a hold of Runner and coordinated to have him collect Sol, who Gavin had reached. The other phones went straight to voicemail, so we assumed everyone else was beyond the mundane world’s cell coverage,

          Within twenty minutes the four of us had met up and hashed out a basic plan. Tegan probably had better tactical training than the rest of us, but we did our best by relying heavily on a modified version of Gavin’s firefighting procedures. As a staggered line we circled in on the house, verifying that the yard was clear, no projectiles came at us, and avoiding the spiked boards which I had planted earlier. Pressed against the house, we poured in, through the front door; each person waiting a two-count before following the last, to avoid pile ups. I moved in last, to allow Sol’s exceptional night vision to guide the party’s sweep of rooms, also to use my candlelight’s worth of faery-glow to act as a beacon for any enemy spotters. Since we had not been fired on, I had some hope that the frat-caps had not been clever enough to upgrade their baseball-bats to guns.

          Other than some blood smears near the front door, our rental home was empty, undisturbed, and quiet. Entering the garage last, all four of us remained prepared for a trap.

          It was the wrinkly mass of Tallwind, that had been strung up by his ankles with an extension-cord, his limbs also bound. It was hard to recognize the man at first, from how his loose and fire scarred flesh draped over his features. An open cut along Tallwind’s forehead and a drip pattern on the concrete made it clear that the bastards had bled our ally (like a deer) into one of more buckets, which they must have taken with them.

          My cheeks burned with fury, horror, and embarrassment. Our home had been violated and my comrade battered. Worse though, I felt terribly ineffective. If there had been fewer of us, my limited first aid training or even more limited muscles may have been useful.

          As it was, Gavin and Runner used their athletic strengths to gently lower Tallwind, while Sol tended the saggy man’s wounds. I had assumed that Gavin’s fireman training would have provided the best emergency medical training for our group. Instead, slinky Sol pulled an herbal smelling jar of poultice and an Ace-bandage from her backpack and applied them to Tallwind. Tallwind’s very shallow breathing seemed to ease somewhat and his muscles relaxed.

          “We need to get him more help, fast.” Sol’s fully-black eyes looked up, from where she knelt over parchment-pale Tallwind.

          “Rrr hospital orrr Gerri’s Breath of Vitality glamourrr?” Runner was ringing his hair covered hands.

          “And,” Gavin stood arms akimbo, “should a couple of us stay here as guards?”

          No-one really wanted to volunteer for guard duty, nor did we want to face the questions of doctors and nurses. So, it was quickly concluded that we would all go to Ariadne’s Sheaves & Leaves. If Tegan was not there, then we would reconsider options. Gavin easily carried limp Tallwind to Runner’s med-sized taxi. The big earthen fellow then helped to steady and monitor Tallwind from the front passenger seat, while Sol sat in back with the wrinkly head in her lap.

I hardly even wondered if Sol was using her hand-mouths to nibble at the last bits of Tallwind’s vitality. In truth, I was grateful for the first time for my allies’ detached aplomb. The whole situation had me shaking with unresolved rage and confusion, so I was not thinking very straight. Although, on the drive, I did find myself wondering to what horrors the Folk had exposed my cohorts, that they could be so unmoved by the violations of our property and comrade. O’Bleness did flicker through my thoughts several times, yet was quelled by uncertainties of mortal medicines effect on our spirit-touched forms.

          By the time our two vehicles pulled into the gravel lot of Sheaves & Leaves', my paranoia of being ambushed at any moment had resurfaced and kicked my awareness-adrenalin into gear. Therefore, I got a much clearer impression of the nighttime bookstore/tea-shop. The "after hours" interior was much more gothic and gloomier, dim lighting casting ominous shadows and an ever deeper hush than the books provided during the day. Fixtures and furnishings also seemed older and less well kept up. I hoped that I could avoid experience the place like that in the future.

          Fortunately, Tegan and Wade were waiting in the garden. There were brief recriminations for the duo failing to step into the mundane world to check their phone messages. However, Tallwind took priority.

          Tegan knelt next to Tallwind, where Gavin had gingerly placed him in the soft damp grass, while gave the brief recap of our adventure at the rental. As the supple crimson-haired lass blew gently on the bloodless wrinkled face, color returned to Tallwind's flabby cheeks and his breathing became stronger and steadier, although he remained deeply unconscious. Then Tegan and Gavin gave Tallwind a more professional EMT assessment—checking for signs of internal bleeding, broken bones, and concussion.

          “Well,” Gavin stood up and stretched his back, “he’s got a nasty bump on the side of his head, but no sign of concussion or other wounds. And Gerri’s spell seems to have countered the blood loss.”

          Tegan, Sol, and all winced at the use of the word “spell”. I did not know about Sol, but Tegan preferred “gift”, and my pedantic inner voice screamed “glamour, dammit! How hard is that to remember?!”

          “Even so,” Tegan also rose up, brushing some of the damp and grass from her knees, “he needs as much bed rest as possible. So, we should get him to the oak.”

          No discussion was necessary for our weary troupe, the promises of our snug beds and magically protected tree-house was too enticing. Gavin balanced Tallwind, in a standard fireman’s carry. Then, we all followed Tegan into the inky-blackness of the Thorny Edge Maze.

         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:


	13. Chapter 13

Day 12: Saturday, November 19th

The scent of pumpkins and warm wax wafted potent through the old-growth forest, virtually clinging to our party as we trekked. Rare slivers of sky in the otherwise impenetrable canopy offered glimpses of the pre-dawn lightening. My moonlight aura revealed our breathy puffs of condensation, in the crisp-dry air. Patches of frost glittered in the same faery light, over leaves and tree trunks.

Tegan led, slipping and swaying through the underbrush, at the edge of my luminous radius. Gavin clomped like a mobile wall, with his unconscious burden in the center of our troupe. Runner and I kept pace on either side of the big guy; I took the left, where Tallwind was slung, in case Gavin had to swing at something with his free sledgehammer-stone right-fist. Wade strode and Sol virtually glided behind us. Our companions looked less fatigued than Gavin and myself, yet we were all drooped and yawning. Even though shivering in the chill air seemed to help keep my allies alert, I still preferred the comfort of my Summer’s Embrace glamour.

Tegan’s pace picked up and I believed we were close to our oak-home, then my faery-light revealed a fellow, casually leaning back against a tree, before us. By all appearances a Victorian gentleman, in a mourning suit of lavender, complete with top hat, cane, and spats. Upon our approach, the tall and slender chap removed his hat to perform an elegant bow.

"Greetings fellows," the man’s British accent matched his attire, "Allow me to introduce myself. I am known as Springheeled Jack." He had a wry smile and dark mischievous eyes.

I parodied his bow and said in my most chipper voice. "Hi, I'm Tom."

"Just 'Tom'?" Mr. Jack's incredulity and mild offence was hard to miss.

"Well, Tommy. Um," I realized that having received a full name, one was expected in return, "Twilight Tommy, to be precise."

It was the first time since my captivity that I had spoken my faery name aloud. It felt easing, for the second before my five conscious comrades sniggered. Then, as each ally was looked to for their identification, they stopped smirking and hesitated, as the weight of telling a stranger in the Briar their True Names sank in.

Perhaps My full pseudonym had triggered their memories. May be it was just the Briar and the possibly deceptively-charming Springheeled Jack. Whatever the case, my own smile bloomed satisfied and superior, as my party each validated the safe-names which I had been favoring for them. I kept my smile steady, in spite of the flashes back to our flight through the Thorn Maze, in ragged scrubs.

"Gavin, uh, Gavin Granitbane, that is." The large ex-fireman waved his free brick-hand.

"I go by Tegan Bramblerose." She curtseyed a little for Springheeled Jack.

"Call rrr me urm Freerunnererer." The otter-y lad grumble-mumbled, while crouched over in a posture which may have been a prolonged bow.

"I'll be Iron Wade the Man of Steel." The weatherworn fellow stepped purposefully from behind Gavin, projected his raspy voice emphatically, and placed his fists on his hips.

An aside, Iron Wade may protest my spelling of "Steal" in his nom de plume. To which I say let him write his own story. My way both feels right and is much more amusing.

"You may call me Dark Sol," the platinum blond purred, as she slinked forward and let the stranger bow and kiss her hand. Sol giggled appreciatively.

With each name some of the smaller puzzle pieces clicked into place. I rolled my eyes with personal disappointment for having come so close in each case. I also planted my feet against the impulse to flee, as we had done during our mutual escapes from the Folk, that being suddenly present in my mind. Grasping at the present, I realized that I still did not know Rai’s full safe-name, however I did recall Mr. Granitbane's shoulder baggage.

"And Gavin's potato sack," I gestured to our unconscious ally, "is Sean Tallwind."

My shoulders slumped when it became clear that none of my comrades were going to acknowledge how impressive it was that I knew Tallwind’s name. Of course, my party was also quickly too engrossed with the charming Mr. Jack to pay much attention to me, or each other. Another of my group’s patented conversation-barrages ensued. Coupled with my twenty-four hours-plus of no sleep, left me piecing topics and details together, more than participating.

I did worry about having a casual conference in the dangerous Between, where any number of monsters could attack. Then I worries that Springheeled Jack was one of the dangers, although that slipped away quickly. Eventually, I worried that Jack was employing a glamour to keep us off our guards, but that to slipped away. Ultimately, none of my party gave away the existence of our haven, though, so we should still be able to flee there for refuge, should the formally attired gent turn on us.

The gist of the rapid-fire discussion revolved around Mr. Jack’s having been “…wandering the world, for some time” and his interest in the local court. Comments that Peter Dionysus had made to me clicked into place, so I was not as stunned as my colleagues to discover that Athens had its own fae court. Although, Tegan also displayed more knowledge than I had suspected.

"Well," the auburn bombshell told our new acquaintance, "we’re all very new to this. But, I was just talking to someone in the Red Court of the Western Territories and she mentioned that the court hereabouts recently became one of smoke and mirrors?" She made it a question to see if her listener understood the meaning.

The sociable wanderer was unfazed by the Red Court comment and he smiled widely, "That is wonderful. I had heard similar, however it is nice to receive the corroboration, prior to visiting the Court proper.” He tapped his pointy chin with one gloved finger. “In truth, I should have guessed, as the Midwestern Territories tend to either the wisdom of Earth, or the surreptitious Ice, and without snow on the ground in November, the former is the most the obvious bet. Plus, Smoke and Mirror can only mean that Redhorn and Glass have once again ascended." His smile seemed to be a mix of pride and relief.

Various puzzle pieces flipped and reconfigured. Earth, smoke, and mirrors were all associated with melancholic humors, so the Midwestern Territories were ruled by followers of Autumnearth precepts, as Las Vegas was by Summerfire’s devotees. Additionally, as my focus slipped I saw that what I had been assuming was fog creeping in, was instead a powdery dust that accumulated about Jack, to be stirred into low clouds by his movements. Springheeled also wore another Autumnearth Grace in an aura of feint screams, which I had been attributing the Briar. Meanwhile, the conversation continued about me.

"Is that true for all the courts close to Ariadne's Freehold?" Tegan’s wily iridescent-crystal eyes phished for more confirmations her own earlier information gathering.

I suspected our shapely strategist was also verifying Springheeled's veracity as much as anything else. However, I was intrigued by the “Freehold” designation. Which made me wonder if Ms. Bramblerose had shared that data back while I was fretting about vampires and the like. Not wanting reveal my ignorance to the inquisitive stranger, I chewed my lip and hoped to be able to get Tegan to repeat her bamboo-grove findings later.

"Ariadne has a Freehold of her own?" Jack's dark-silvery eyes widened with mild-surprise, as he nodded appreciatively. "I suppose I have been away longer than I had thought," The lanky Englishman pursed his thin lips to consider his reply. "As for the other nearby courts, I could not say, as I do not know the placement of Ariadne's Freehold in relation to those localities… What sort of holding has Ariadne formed?"

"A rare books collection and tea shop." I offered, from where I stood approximately in the center of our gathering. "Called Sheaves & Leaves."

"Well," Iron Wade amended, running one scarred hand through his hair, "that's mostly for the normal people. The seal around each door reads Terra Nullis."

"Oh," Jack bobbed his head in approval, "she established a neutral territory. That must be advantageous to many."

I mentally smacked my forehead. "Terra" territory and "Nullis" neutral, “neutral territory” not “no man's land”. I watched as Wade came to the same conclusions and nodded slowly.

"So, hold on," Gavin scratched his rough orange temple with the sound of cinderblocks rubbing together, "We're saying that there's, like medieval courts running in the US? Not just some fancy mock-up in Vegas, for the tourists?"

"Absolutely…" the thin Brit beamed.

Which marked the end of the lull and the returned to deluging Springheeled Jack with rapid and rapacious inquiries. Mr. Jack remained calm and polite throughout, though, never once seeming sarcastic, condescending, or annoyed.

The essence of what my tired consciousness gathered, from Springheeled’s impromptu sociology lesson, was that there were fae governed territories all over the world and the North American continent housed about a dozen. The territories were established for a variety of reason, not the least of which was to ward off the Folk. The territories (AKA courts) cover large expanses of the Mortal World, as well connect aspects of the Briar. The Midwestern Territories spanned as far west as Indiana, north into Upper Michigan, although none of Detroit of any of Wisconsin, east into Pennsylvania and West Virginia, and south almost to the border of Ohio. Smaller versions of the courts often crop up, to oversee the more populated parts of a territory and were referred to as duchies, baronies, principalities, peerages, and so on, depending on local customs. The court leadership varies wildly, which can also cause conflicts between territories. Hence the value of Ariadne’s neutral meeting place Freehold.

I was pretty sure that I had read, or been told, some of that before. However, was unwilling to berate myself for the forgetfulness. Especially, since none of my allies seemed any more familiar with the details.

"Hold on.” Iron Wade the Man of Steal, interjected. “I thought you said the point was to defend against the Keepers? Don’t all the courts work together for that? Where's the disagreements?"

"True, that is one goal which all of the courts share." Mr. Jack every nod was exaggerated by his dusky-lavender stovepipe hat. "However, precisely how to establish and maintain those defenses is a point of common disagreement. Plus, there are many other purposes the courts fulfill for their changeling vassals, which may be handled un any number of methods."

The term “vassals” made me frown with distaste, however I tried to keep an open mind, until I could verify more. The fae literature I had read, often used a word in a slightly altered manner to which I was accustomed, after all.

From there the conversation had returned to my favorite bookstore, as Springheeled explained, "… Freeholds do not hold territories, rather they are more akin to self-contained city-states. Usually, claiming a small fortifiable structure or compound. They are ran independently of the territory in which they are located."

"I don't quite get it?" Gavin grid-rubbed the back of his neck this time.

"Well…" Jack considered a moment. "Imagine that Ohio was its own country and it was ran by a dictator. Only the people of Columbus did not want to live according to the dictatorship, yet also did not have the resources to try and overthrow the government. However, through political machinations the leaders of Columbus convinced the Dictator of Ohio to let them govern themselves, as long as they did not try and spread beyond their city's borders. That is pretty much a Freehold." He raised a long finger. "And the easiest way to convince the greater governing body that your freehold will not cause trouble, is to make it neutral so that you represent no political affiliation of your own." With a glance around the shadow-laden forest, the dapper fellow confessed, “There are, of course, many nuances and exceptions.”

Somewhere in the chaotic questioning Mr. Jack was asked about his journeys; mostly by the coquettish Dark Sol. Springheeled Jack claimed to spend most of his time traveling the Maze Between, yet also implied rare excursions into dangerous Lands Beyond—citing such places as Pandemonium, the City of Brass, and Underland. My sleepy mind finally remembered to use my notebook and jot down the various names, for future research.

It was about then that our collective restlessness tapered off and we all started once more to droop with fatigue. Even Springheeled Jack looked tired, although that may have been a darklings day-sickness. Dark Sol, had certainly taken on her less alluring daytime appearance, at about the same moment that Mr. Jack’s shoulders had sagged. So, we bid the gentleman-wanderer farewell and started to follow Tegan Bramblerose, once more to our haven destination.

I was just reflecting again about how nice it was that none of my effusive allies had invited Springheeled back to our tree-house, when Iron Wade said, “Hey, where’s Sol?”

Five sets of spirit-touched eyes looked back to see our chalky-skinned goth-girl dancing with the well dressed stranger.

“Sol!” Gavin boomed.

The dancers quarter-turned, so that Dark Sol could see us. The lass’s infinitely-black eyes were hard to read, yet her smile seemed genuine, as she twiddled the fingers in one hand at us. A few more steps, Sol's brittle hair swaying as best it could, along with the swish of her shimmery black-satin skirt. Then, both dancers were gone, a puff of dust left a contrail pointing towards the casually impenetrable canopy of branches.

."Oh, crap!" Tegan's concerned exclamation was fairly frantic. "We need to go after them!… only Milt… uh, Sean needs bed rest… Maybe we’ll split up…"

“Whoa!” I held up my suntanned hands and patted the air, to try and get Tegan to slow down, "let's think for a second." I took a deep breath. I mainly did not like the idea of splitting our group even further.

All of my allies also in haled and exhaled a deep breath. Tegan still seemed tense, though.

"Sol ran off with that blue dude,” I reasoned, “back in Vegas, and no-one freaked then. And it turned out fine.” I gestured to where the dancers had been. “As far as I could tell, she was flirting with Jack, just like that other guy, from the word hello. Plus, he didn’t call her back, she snuck back of her own volition. And, most important, she's an adult." I shrugged. "It looked like a date, to me, not an abduction." I tilted my head forward to emphasize the earnest look, which I gave Tegan. 'Would you really want any of us barging in on you on a first date? Even, if we had the best intentions?"

“Rrr I gotta agree.” Freerunner ran his nimble hands along his arms, straitening the hair. “Urm that wave rrgh looked like rrirr a don’t rrr wait up, rrerph to me.”

Tegan hesitated, then nodded, “Yeah, alright, Jack they did seem to hit it off. I just felt like Jack was a bit creepy.”

I snorted, “So, they’re meant for each other.” Then, as we resumed hiking. “Beside, you’re probably just picking up on his melancholic Grace.”

“Hey,” Gavin walked sideways a few steps in order to see me around his Tallwind bundle, “didn’t you say that was what I had?”

“Yeah,” Iron Wade chimed in, “me too. Are you saying that we’re creepy, like that guy?”

“Not really.” I just kept walking. “He had clearly been favored by Autumnearth more heavily.”

“It’s true,” Miss Bramblerose called back to us, in a thoughtful tone, “you two guys are creepy in your own special ways.”

Before anymore could be said on that subject or the general safety of Sol, Tegan stopped short with an awed. “Whoa.”

A mound of freshly churned earth, cut across our path. Over two-feet high, a couple of yards wide, and running into the dim-lit and dense foliage as far as we could see. After half a minute of close inspection, Ms. Bramblerose and Freerunner concurred that a very-very large burrowing creature had been through, some time that morning. Not knowing much about the wilderness or tracking, I simply nodded acceptance. Wade and Gavin merely looked disappointed when it became clear that the massive beast was no longer nearby.

The two men were even more dejected when they had to admit that getting Sean Tallwind home and rest for everyone was a better idea than stalking the burrower. As the furrow ran perpendicular to our path, we just took care not to sink into the loose earth and proceeded on our way—with an ear out for digging noises.

Even if our other colleagues had caught naps, while Gavin and I worked, we were all beat by the time we filed into our vault-ceiling living room. On the other hand, the relief of being safely home, gave us all enough of a second wind to recount the highlights of our evening for the well rested Rai and Amaryllis. After Amy ticked Tallwind into his room, that is. I made special note of how easily the athletic dryad carried the wrinkled mass; a feat both appealing and cautionary.

Neither Amy nor Rai said much during our tale of Tallwind’s redcap assault and torture or the encounter with Springheeled Jack and his possible abduction of Dark Sol. By then, I honestly had not expected the triangle-eared lad to respond to any stimulus and was fairly surprised that his bright-green eyes remained opened through our entire explanation. Then, I was practically floored when Rai actually interjected, when we got to the introductions to Mr. Jack portion of the tale, though.

"Yeah, you know what," cool-green cat-eyes looked sheepishly to the side, "I've been thinking that I should be Raion-ju… But, you all can just call me Rai."

I successfully turned my giggle of delight into a throat clearing. I did not want to give the impression that the names was numerous. Rather, I was exceptionally once more pleased at my own correct, or at least partially correct, memory. Yet, more so I had found the sheepish look to be pretty hilarious on Rai’s predatory face.

Raion-ju returned to his ultra-passive listener mode. However, when Tegan took over the narrative, to describe the unusual earthen mound, which we had crossed, Amy stepped out of the wall. The dryad’s glossy-brown eyes were wide and her nostrils flared with agitation. Amaryllis, kept pausing and cocking her head, as if listening for something from outside.

"What's hrrm the matterrrr Amy?" ‘Runner’s low mumble-grumble voice tense, swimmer's body taught and ready to spring into action.

The tall tree-spirit stared at the hirsute lad, elegant-sturdy hands clasped before her firm bosom, "Was the burrower a… a root eater!?"

"We didn't see the creature," Tegan said sympathetically, "just the trail it left. But, it wasn't very close and clearly not pointed this way."

That was not as reassuring for Amy as any of us could have hoped. So, our commune spent the next few minutes trying to calm Amaryllis and dispel her fears. The formidable tree-lady did become less agitated, although remained fairly tense. Tellingly, Amy requested, "That is all well and good, I suppose, but I think you all need to make a fence."

"But… "Gavin voice our collective’s thought, "even if the thing did come here, it would just go under a fence."

Amy rolled her big brown-eyes and sighed, like no-one understood that two plus two equaled four, "That's why you put it under ground… Four or five paces from my trunk should do nicely."

"Won't a fence just decompose, or mess with the…” Iron Wade's metallic-grey eyes were nearly squeezed shut, as his brow furrowed in confusion. ”uh, that is, your roots?"

Amy had re-melded most of the way into the wall, but extended forward once more, far enough to place her arms akimbo, "That is why you will have to get some of that noxious metal, from that other place you are all always running off to. And just don't go down deeper than that." She raised her wood-brown hand over her head to indicate roughly eight-feet from the floor. "And make a fence, not a wall. So, smaller things like roots and worms can pass through." She threw up both hands in exasperation and fused into the wall, as she turned away.

“Hmmrrr,” ‘Runner mused, “she must err be pretty irgh scared, to rrr actually syggest rrurr using iron-based mph metal nearererer the tree.”

None of us remembered the specifics of our ritual shared-mind, though we all retained a sense of how little Amy cared for metal and especially anything remotely similar to cold-iron. So, our group agreed with Freerunner and quickly concluded that we had to deal with the burrower as soon as possible. We still intended to bury the fence as instructed, however our sleep-deprived minds also convinced us that tracking down the beast to verify its non-root-eater status would be entertaining. Rai had slept well, so his only excuse for not speaking up could only have been that he really did want to go ion the hunt.

Even after Tegan, Gavin, Wade, ‘Runner, and I grabbed an hour or so worth of napping and a quick oatmeal breakfast, we still followed through with the plan. I had more trepidation than earlier, however not nearly enough to overcome the sense of adventure which I so rarely indulged. Gearing up, with my rolls of dollar-coins, for hefting my punches, and my length of the rough cold-iron chain, felt like being twelve again and heading out with my buddies and their broom handled “staves” to go “exploring the wilds” of the acre plot next to our local Kroger’s. Even my allies simply wore their typical jeans, books and boats, and carried crowbars and similar makeshift weapons. Although, I was the only one who seemed to have brought along the proven dangerous cold-iron.

It was likely that my comrades simply had not put as much thought into the chain’s use. I had, on the other hand, had picked up a pair of thick leather workman’s gloves. With the gloves on I could wrap the crude cold-iron link around the knuckles of one hand, for a pair of makeshift “brass-knuckles”, all of which stored easily in a pocket. I also imagined that in a pinch, I could employ the almost two-feet of chain as a lash. I was just about to brag about my cleverness, when Iron Wade entered our clearing, and my pride-filled chest defeated a little

Iron Wade the Man of Steal had an actual rapier, in a proper scabbard, slung at his hip. Since the dour fellow had been a fencing teacher in his mortal life, there was no reason to suspect that he was not capable with the weapon, either.

“Dude!” My excited curiosity, but to the fore of my brain, before the be-cool part could look up my mouth. “Where’d you get the sword?"

"Rapier, specifically." Wade corrected absentmindedly, then with more venom as he drew, inspected, and re-sheathed the blade. "I broke into my old apartment. My fetch or spirit-eater or whatever it is, still lives there. So, I walked in while he… or it, or whatever, was teaching classes, and I took it."

"Why didn't you take one of us?" Gavin clearly meaning himself. "What if he had caught you?"

Wade shrugged sharp shoulders. "I checked the class schedules and that he still teaches at the university. I just went in when he was in class… the idiot still keeps a spare key where I used to, so I didn't even actually break in, exactly."

It was a ballsy move and we had other questions about what Iron Wade had done in the apartment, but he waved them off. Talking about it seemed to make the scarred man angry or depressed or both, so we let the subject go.

Tegan explained to the oak’s trunk what we were going off to do, then the six of us tromped into the twisty-shifting wilderness. Raion-ju and Miss Bramblerose, of course, led the way with there faery tracking powers. Freerunner and I stayed to the middle of our party. Watching our rears were Gavin Granitbane with his mighty flexing fists and the Man of Steal with his saber.

The crisp and crackly fall foliage echoed disproportionately to our passage continued to be shadowy enough to need the benefit of my moon-glow aura. Smells of toasted pumpkin seeds mingled with stale cardboard and bubblegum. The temperature was actually quite comfortable, however I spit on a match to enact my glamour anyway, for the practice.

As we walked, there was some discussion of hunting practices; “I could draw it out, then you all could swarm in from behind”, “We could probably fashion branches into spears and ram them into the burrow”, “Luring it out and striking from the tree branches…”, and so on. Even Rai participated. Although, admittedly Tegan and I tended to add comments like, “If it’s not a root eater, we can probably just leave it”, or “Even just driving away faster, will serve our purposes”.

Freerunner, on the other hand, was practically a woodland creature himself and seemed concerned about the general bloodthirsty attitude our little hunting party had adopted. The hairy fellow grumble-gargled, "If, hrmm, the thing urm is an hrrm animal, I think, hrmph that I can urm talk to hrm it. Maybe, rrr get it to agree urmph to split."

I appreciated the humane solution and was pleasantly surprised when the other four agreed to help 'Runner try his idea, before resorting to more violent methods. And I said as much, yet added, “However, I think we all continued to have to defend ourselves at the very least.”

Our band came upon the burrow/hillock and Raion-ju did not pause, he just turned left, and we picked up the pace as we followed the burrow to its head. Our guides picked up the pace and we almost had to jog along the loose earthen mound. After ten or fifteen minutes, the six of us came to the head of the line.

Whatever was below moved a lot of earth at an impressive pace, easily faster than our groups walking speed in the dense undergrowth. The otherwise solid ground at the head of the mound seemed to bubble and churn, elongating the earthen mound several feet every second. The fresh earth smell mingled with the Briar's current aroma of semi-fermented rotting apples.

"Okay, Ky… Freerunner," Tegan was having the same trouble name swapping that I had dealt with a week earlier, "you're up. Talk to it."

'Runner's little dark-eyes widened, as he barked a laugh, "Har, I rrr said I errgh could talk to rrirr an animal, mmrr not a load rrr of dirt." He pointed a hairy finger at the churning earth. "Rrm we eithererer need to get rrr that thing rrerr up hererere, orrr me down therere."

Our troupe kept pace with the burrowing beast for a few paces as we discussed options. It came down to, Gavin scooping out a hole just behind the agitated earth. Then using a rope which Wade had brought in his backpack. Rock-like Mr. Granitbane moved loose earth almost as fast as the creature dug through the solid ground. So, by the time there was a hole wide enough into which we could lower 'Runner, the burrower had made very little progress. Raion-ju and Iron Wade were at the other end of the otter-y fellow's life-line, although I doubted the larger man needed the skinnier guy's help, while the rest of us waited tensely.

Freerunner’s muffled voice, like an agitated raccoon, could just be heard. Then, the burrowing stopped and the earth at the end of the mound jostled, as if the beast were shuffling to face the hirsute cab-driver. Even before the creature had fully spun around, 'Runner was yanking on the rope and yelling to be pulled free.

Rai yank ‘Runner clear and dirt sprayed in a wide shower as the creature burst up snapping its enormous jaws inches behind our furry ally. The reptilian thing was the size and general shape of a full grown hippopotamus. The hide of alligator-like scales were white with black striping, akin to a tiger's patterning. The monsters muzzle was also like an alligator or crocodiles, only wider than it was long and with multiple rows of teeth. No ears were visible and proportionally small black-eyes blinked furiously. Worst of all, the monster was frenzied and lashing out with fore-claws which were like butcher-knives mounted on garbage-can lid-sized paws, attached to tree trunk legs.

All six of us shouted and moved. Gavin, Wade, and to a slightly lesser degree Tegan attempted to yell directions to everyone else, although with no unity of purpose. ‘Runner and I yelped in dismay and just tried to stay out of the way of both allies and attacker. Panther-y Rai virtually roared, though that startled his comrades more than our mutual foe.

Mr. Granitbane and the Man of Steel were first to physically engage. Gavin's skin again became stony grey, as it had that night at Elements, and he stepped right up to the beast, punching the thing in its massive snout and opening a large gash along the scales. From the other side, our fencer drew his blade, waited poised, and—when the beast reared up from Gavin’s blow—swept his saber smoothly, slicing the creature’s pale belly wide open.

The monster screech was unexpectedly shrill, as it shook the leaves overhead. The scaly behemoth also lurched to one side, as a dozen or so smaller, pinkish-fluid covered, versions of the beast spilled out of the purply-red gash that Wade had made. The young beasts were the size of large dogs. While my gang danced away from the mother's raking limbs and snapping jaws, the her premature children righted themselves and quickly sprang into action. A few of the smaller creatures started burrowing immediately, hitting the ground like a fish splashing into water. Most of the siblings dallied, attempting to clean themselves off, before turning to attack one of my party. However, three did not delay and turned, still dripping phlegm-like amniotic fluid and mother’s blood, their needle-like fangs snapping towards Gavin and 'Runner.

By then Gavin Granitbane had been knocked to the ground by a mighty swipe from the monstrous mother beast. Agile Tegan Bramblerose seemed flustered, yet had a shiny knife in each hand and avoided being bitten. I had donned my gloves and coin rolls, with my cold-iron knuckleduster on my right hand. I successfully struck the smaller purple-red oozing gash that Gavin had punched open on our prey's snout. The beast flinched at my blow, but otherwise seemed unfazed. I do not know what drove me to enter the fray at all and was too exhilarated to consider such reasoning just then.

'Runner once more enacted his Dr. Doolittle glamour to try and communicate. The magic made the whisker-faced fellow hiss like a snake, or angry cat. Freerunner successfully scared most of the newborns, causing them to dive into the ground and burrowed away, in all directions.

Meanwhile, Raion-ju had lithely moved into a position which he found suitable. The usually soft-looking lad’s black skin tightened over solid-bunched muscles, as he crouched, studied the scaly beast with widely dilated eye-slits, then he pounced. Bounding over much larger beasts swinging head and snapping maw, Rai tumbled in mid-air, striking out with arms and legs. A horrible, short series of cracking sounds came as the big man broke the thing's sternum and tore its right fore-leg off. The creature did not even have the time to scream again, as it shuddered once and died, purply blood shooting from arteries where the limb had been.

Shouting and arm flailing scared off the last few young.

Tegan kneeled over our granite grey companion, her auburn ponytail a bright plume, her pouty lips puckered millimeters from his pebbly face. The pretty lady cast her glamour and breathed health back into Gavin. The stony fellow's hardened grey skin returned to its more normal rough orangey clay-like composition and he sprang up, as if he had not been touched, let alone backhanded a few yards. No-one else had been wounded, so we debated what to do.

"None of the young seemed to be headed towards Amy." I observed and leaned my elbow against a tree.

Raion-ju glanced around and sniffed, then nodded agreement.

"And hrrm," 'Runner grumbled dryly, "they rrmph clearly werere _not_ urm rrroot-eaters."

All six of us chuckled. Although, my mirth was tinged with bitterness at having slain a pregnant animal.

“So,” Gavin posed stridently with his arms akimbo, “we’re not going to hunt down the small ones?”

“Too hard, at this point.” Iron Wade’s dull-grey eyes scanned the uninviting forest wearily. “I don’t think we should push our luck out here.”

I grimaced at my comrades aplomb towards the situation, as well as my other thought. I sighed and shared, “Well, since the mother is dead anyway, we might get some value out of her parts.” I very much hoped that there would be some way to verify the meat was edible, or at least be able to trade it to someone like Peter Dionysus, so the death did not have to seem like a total waste.

Everyone was on board without dissent or hesitation, each taking a few find-long teeth, at least. Thanks to Rai and Gavin’s apparently boundless strengths, we were also able to carry the dismembered leg with us. Pretty much all of my allies had been hunting, in their mortal lives, and they concurred that covering the corpse in a light layer of dirt should discourage scavengers, long enough to return with better disassembling tools.

 

Amaryllis emerged battle-ready, from the oak’s trunk, as we approached. The dryad's usually smooth brown-skin had taken on a thicker and more bark-like texture. Amaryllis also o carried a spear of sharpened wood and wore a Roman Centurion style set of thorny-bark armor. While scanning the tree-line with intent dark-eyes, Amy’s eager voice was slightly strained, "Did you find it? Is it coming here? It's a root-eater isn't it? Where is it?"

Various members of our party answered in unison. "We found it." "It's not coming." "It's dead." "It wasn't a root eater." "We killed it." And other placations. Eventually, the round-faced Amazonian woman received enough of reassurances to relax.

Then, Iron-head Wade felt that he had to mention, "And none of the young were moving anywhere near this way, either."

Which, of course, made Amy tense and nervous all over again. Our redoubled reassurances only assuaged amaryllis enough to get her to nod stiffly and say, "I suppose that will be well enough, once you plant the fence of iron."

A general groan passed amongst our ranks, as my nearsighted cohorts realized how close they had come to avoiding the fence planting chore. A chore none of us felt up to addressing on only an hour or so for sleep and right after a life threatening battle.

Trudging up the truck-steps, I could only start to mentally form my arguments and defenses for why I should get the shower first. I also fantasized about the decent sleep I would get afterwards. Although, if I could not talk my way into the shower first, then I might just go to bed and bathe on waking. All of which was put on hold, as we entered the living room and found Sean Tallwind awake and nursing a mug of fresh apple-cider.

Our gang flopped into the chairs and couches, around the slightly battered looking fellow. I weighed the idea of co-opting the shower while everyone else was engrossed with Sean’s tale. However, I the desire to avoid second hand or subsequently embellished retellings to be reason enough to tip the balance in favor of staying to listen.

"I went to the rental,” saggy-skinned Mr. Tallwind told us, “to make sure it was still alright. I figured the redcaps might’ve come back individually, even if they hadn’t regrouped.” Both hands wrapped extra-long digits are the thick ceramic mug, as he sipped. “I there a few minutes, when there was a knock at the front door. I thought maybe one of you guys had lost you key or something.” He shrugged in that skin rippling way of his, while setting his mug on the table beside him. “Soon as I opened the door, BANG!” Sean slapped his distorted hands together for emphasis. “it was slammed open and something hard hit me in the head, a brick maybe…” thin fingertips gingerly brushed the lump on the side of his yellow-grey head. “I remember a some of the beatin’ that followed, but no details, other than it was defiantly those redcap assholes."

Gavin and I then told the worn Tallwind of how we had found him and the trip back to the oak. Sean seemed displeased at how long it had taken for us to have found the garage light on, to when he was cut down, the irritated with everyone’s willingness to dally with Springheeled Jack, while he was so battered. Which may have been understandable from his point of view, however I stood by doing what we did based on what we knew, at the time.

Since Sean remained interested in listening, I moved on to describe our burrowing beast hunt. My gambit seemed to work for getting the wrinkled chap’s mind off of his own mistreatments. By the time I had finished detailing the battle, the rest of my troupe was ready to talk more about dealing with the frat-caps, because none of them had sense enough to leave the topic alone, rather than re-upsetting Tallwind.

Luckily, Sean Tallwind was hooked more into the wild-beast story, advocating, “I'm feeling better, but not better enough to think about going up against those bastards again, just yet." He rubbed his multiple chins with his dowel-esque fingers. "I _am_ interested in seeing that carcass, though, and salvagin’ any hide, or whatnot, that might still be of use."

"I'll take you." Rai half shrugged.

Which made sense to me, as those two had actually slept the night before.

Then Tegan sighed, “We need to deal with Amy’s fence, too.”

“Aw, man,” I moaned, “it can wait. I need more sleep.”

“Rrr amen.” Freerunner nodded.

Iron Wade had conveniently already dozed off where he sat. I was sort of surprised at the amount of energy that Tegan and Gavin both had, actually. Firemen and military cadets must simply train for such prolonged activities.

After a brief insistent discussion Tegan Bramblerose (or her persuasive faery aroma) got her way, although it was she and Gavin that had committed to the gathering of the supplies and planting them in the ground. Sean helped with some quick calculations of materials needed based on circumference to be covered,

“I should be able to carry the stuff through the Briar,” Gavin concluded, “but we’re gonna need a car to get the stuff from Lowe’s to Sheaves & Leaves” Expectant blue marbles trained on me.

As I took a deep resigned breath, I had an inspired flash, “Yeah, that make sense, only there’s no way my little compact car can carry that much extra weight. Not to mention the lack of room for that many fence posts, plus passengers.” I nodded to our furry haven-mate. "Freerunner's taxi has that nice big trunk, though, and the much stronger V-6 engine."

'Runner rolled his beady eyes, sighed, and nodded.

That settled, I was overcome with a second wind and another idea, “I'll tag along as far as the bookstore, though. That leg,” I pointed to the bloody scaly stump propped next to the main entrance, “is _not_ going to improve with age and I bet we can trade it to Dr. Dionysus for some useful information. He might know what to call the thing, at least." I raised my finger upward, for emphasis. "But, I'm hoping that he’ll have a better way to stop the redcaps."

“That sounds like a good idea.” Iron Wade’s rasping voice indicated that he had woken up, as conveniently as he had fallen asleep. “I go along, too.”

I considered taking the opportunity to let Wade handle the negotiations alone, so I could stay home and rest. Then, I thought that my previous rapport with Professor Dionysus might ease the conversation. Plus, I could not tryst that Iron Wade would actually ask the faun useful questions, or remember the answers, upon his return.

 

Freerunner, Gavin Granitbane, Iron Wade the Man of Steal, and I followed Tegan Bramblerose out of the Thorns and into Ariadne’s lounging garden, in the late-morning. I spotted and waved to Peter Dionysus, right away. I reflected that the biologist must teach night classes at the university, to always be in the semi-sheltered garden every day.

I felt mildly cheated, as we all took seats in the cool dry grass. If I had known that the fence-gathering trio were going to linger for the goat-fellow’s lecture, then I really would have taken my shower and slept.

Before we had left our haven, Tegan had suggested we bundle the scaly limb as best we could, before carrying it through the predator filled Briar. Amaryllis was happy to provide large sheets of brown butcher-style paper and plenty of twine. So, it was that package which Gavin placed and unwrapped before Dionysus.

We recounted our tale, under the orangey sun, filtered through hazy clouds. It almost felt more like late summer, until a chilled breeze would eddy around the courtyard, full of the aromas of burning leaves and cold rains yet to come. Dionysus was intrigued and impressed throughout the narrative.

"Hmmm," the crypto-biologist prodded the leg with a stick that he had pulled from one of the garden trees, "I am certain that I have never heard of one of these, before. However, it is definitely not any type of dragon." He assured Tegan, who had suggested the possibility.

I took that as my go-head to claim naming rights. Until proven otherwise, my party were the first sentient beings to survive an encounter with such a beast, thus deceiving the right. So, I started confidently referring to the scales monster as a “vermicious k'nid”. I was sure that if I had opened it to the debate of my colleagues, they would have settled on something as unimaginative as “scaly Hippo”… Although, I might have agreed to “hippodile”. A moot point as I favored my literary allusion.

"However," the goat-legged doctor had continued, "I do concur with your assessment that it was carnivorous. I also imagine that it is highly unlikely that the young will be prone to return." He went on at some length about the trauma the young must have experience and the negative associations which they would associate with the area of their mother's death.

Iron Wade presented my suggestion, before I could, "So, Doc, would you take this leg in exchange for some answers?"

The faun's hourglass-eyes' narrowed, behind his semi-circular spectacles, "That depends on what sort of questions."

"Just general stuff," I spoke up, "about local politics, maybe some about types of spirit-touched. You know, like I said before me and my comrades are still pretty fresh and looking to get our bearings with everything." I figured that was broad enough to get us details on the redcaps, as well as more. I was again expecting to be bartered down somewhat.

After only a little negotiation, Peter agreed and I experienced the _thwnangang-thrum_ of the Gyr binding me into bargain. The sensation was quick and relatively loose feeling, with a sort of reverb which I associated with the group dynamic aspect of the arrangement.

There followed several hours of Prof. Dionysus fielding whatever questions that our party could pitch. Per our agreement, interruptions were kept to a minimum and Dionysus could decline to answer anything that he felt was too personal or outside of his overall knowledge. Even so, we covered aspects of the Midwestern Territories (alternately known as Hawk Wood, or the Salamander Court), to tactics best used against redcaps, to a few more shadow-eater questions, and more. Generally the insights and advice seemed sound. Although, tactically, the academician favored the "run away" method of dealing with conflicts, such as the frat-caps.

As before, dear reader, the short doctor was far more detailed in his responses than I provide here. I encourage you to present him with an unusual body part, to pay for your own answers.

Since the “no interruptions” clause was established, my allies found it hard to sit and wait their turns. So, Bramblerose, Granitbane, and Freerunner wound p heading off on there DIY errand, anyway. By the time the trio returned from Lowe’s, Iron Wade and I were wrapping up with Dionysus.

As Tegan guided our quintet, once more through the creaking creepy woods, Gavin carried the several hundred pounds of bundled metal fence-posts over his shoulder, as easily as I might have done with three or four broomsticks. Other than passing through an area filled with directionless trebled-whistling, our hike was uneventful.

At our haven, we saw that Sean Tallwind and Raion-ju had returned with the majority of the vermicious k'nid's hide. The burn-scarred fellow was in the process of pinning the scaly sheet out flat, in our clearing. Wade called over, “any bones or meat?”

“Nah,” Tallwind’s face wobbled back and forth, “we barely got the hide away, before a flock o’ them hatchet-beaks swooped. Nothin’ left of that coarse, but a stain, after ten seconds.”

I scrubbed that thought away with a nice hot shower. I had thought to ask Amy to bring me fresh clothes from my room, so I did not have to try and rush up and back again, before any of the others could do the same. Then I took another power-nap.

Upon waking, I learned that the rest of my cohorts either slept, drove metal posts into the ground, scraped k'nid hide for tanning, or did whatever Raion-ju and Amaryllis did with their alone time. Iron Wade and I had discussed returning to the concierge at the Pleasure Gardens of d’Or, on our return from meeting with Peter Dionysus. I quick survey verified that none of our colleagues were interested in joining us.

 

I covered the Man of Steal’s bus fare into Sin City, in turn, he paid for the concierge/guide. At the cordoned-off hillock of the mildly-psychedelic cave-garden, I watch closely, as Iron Wade handled the transaction. I was rewarded with the sight of the ever so faint twinge-twitch which passed through the implacable fencer and the diaphanous drifty lady, when their deal was formed. I also felt the hint of the binding sensation, as Wade had included me in the bargain.

          Even though the lady who took Iron Wade’s hundred-bucks was the same fae that we had spoken with the other day, the rest of the people within the cushioned area were all different. I assumed they were al clients, until the cloudy-haired women called over one of the loungers, to act as our escort/guide/lackey.

          “Hello, you may call me Theresa.” Our personal concierge had pale slightly-turquoise skin, large dark blue-black eyes, forest-green shoulder-length perpetually-wet hair, and gills below her pointed ears. Theresa wore a long vest, embroidered with waves and seashells, over a blue-trimmed black long-sleeved wetsuit top, and blousy dark-green pants, with simple leather sandals.

When Iron Wade expressed an interest in seeing the City Below and learning more about it, Theresa's first question was "Would you like to swim there, or take the long way?" Her smile revealed far too many far too shark-like teeth.

After a sidelong glance between him and me, Wade declined the water route. So, the three of us walked the long way, which also provided the opportunity to ask more questions.

Our guide confirmed specifics about what we had already discovered, such Xanadu’s function as the seat of King Tamerlane of the Red Court and that Queen Pataya presides in Red Rock Canyon. Our questions included how the court functioned: general politics, the relationship between d'Or and d'Argent, and so on. Wade and I learned some of the methods and obligations of swearing fealty to the Red Court of the Western Territories, and the comparative differences for doing so to one of the subordinate duchies. I was surprised at how little actual etiquette seemed to matter. Apparently, since spirit-touched are Gyr-bound by all deals and vows, formalized socializing was not as prevalent as in human politics.

Once more, my fair reader, there were many specifics of great interest. Details which for the cost of twenty-five dollar to enter the Golden Duchy's Pleasure Gardens and another hundred-bucks, you too could learn, if you truly want more dry socio-political facts.

Xanadu was a wonderment. Theresa claimed not to know whether the City Below was based on Coleridge's poem or vice versa. Nor did our amphibious guide know if the poet had been spirit-touched. Whichever the case, the Xanadu of poetry was as much like the Red Court’s City Below as an artistic rendering might be imagined. That is to say that key elements are clearly the same, yet artistic license was taken throughout.

While the cavern, somewhere deeper than the Pleasure Gardens, seemed too large to measure, I saw no sign of a sea. There was a river which flowed around-beneath the city-island, Theresa named it the Alph, though there was no mention of being sacred. Plus, the sharp-toothed lass may have been teasing me about the name.

The city itself may have been the poetically purported ten-miles in diameter, it certainly took our little party a long time to reach the structures and we were unable to see very many sights in the limited amount of time in which we visited. Also, Coleridge's "sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice" was better described as a bowl of crystals. From a distance the City of Xanadu looked like a cracked open geode with its base centered over the dark churning river and its ice-like crystals reached sizes of almost three stories, in places. Worn down crystals formed glittery cobbled streets and footpaths, of chaotic widths and trajectories, as dictated by the angular dimensions of the crystalline buildings. Individual large crystals ranged in size from small sheds to bungalows to large brownstones, all etched or drilled hollow to form rooms within. Large clusters of crystals had been formed into theaters and clubs, or clusters had been removed to make amphitheaters and arenas.

As for "sunny" there was no sign. Some phosphorus lichen grew wild in the main cavern and was cultivated in placed throughout the city. Torches, lamps, candles, and the like were also used inside the dwellings. The translucent architecture causing multi-hued glows which reflected off of the streets and other massive crystals high in the cavern’s ceiling. Of course Coleridge may have meant “sunny” as a metaphorical reference to the courts overall choleric disposition, instead.

Again what the poem called a breathing fountain, was in fact a twenty foot hole in the center of Xanadu, through which the river below regularly geysered high into the air. More aquatic changelings employed the spout as a sort of elevator, to and from the heart of town. Every time the water shot up, two to three spirit-touched stepped out while others stepped into the spray.

The poem's "fertile ground" and "gardens bright with sinuous rills" must have indicated d'Or, far above Xanadu. For the City Below had few plants and they were all grown in pots and window boxes. Or those lines, like "forests ancient as the hills" were either long gone or artistic embellishments. Much as I imagine were the Poet's "woman wailing for her demon-lover" and the Abyssinian harpist.

I will not try to match Coleridge for poetic capturing of the essence of the place. Though, I was certainly inspired to try, by Xanadu’s spectral, spectacular, and special grandeur. So, when Iron Wade expressed disappointment that the City Below was not like a renaissance fair version of a medieval castle, I almost wept. I would also have taken the scar-brained jock’s sword and run him through, if he had been carrying it weapon. Instead, I had to suffice with widening my experience of the tour, rather than wallowing in my companion’s narrowness.

Changelings came and went, worked and gamed, drank and talked, everywhere—as in any mortal city. The unique aspects, of course, stood out. The river below and it's geyser in the center of town. Challenges, fights, and competitions were everywhere. One elaborate pub quiz was being played for the deed to the in which pub it was played. Everywhere was foot traffic only, the thoroughfare being far too narrow and irregular for vehicles or mounts.

Sounds echoed and thrummed around the crystalline alleyways and cul-de-sacs, mostly music however, cheering, jeering, and the clash of weapons could also be heard from most corners. I suspected there were quiet places within Xanadu, yet Theresa did not show us any..

Similarly the smells languidly roiled through the thoroughfares in slow, unseen clouds. Many enticing aromas of fresh breads, cooking meats, exotic spices, and flowery perfumes, met and wrestled with tobacco and other smokes, as well as blood and other body fluids, to create spontaneous pockets of surprising atmosphere. The only breeze came from the central geyser as it pushed or pulled air along with the thousands of gallons water from the river called Alph.

Like the air flow, the temperature was consistent. Cool air in the cavern, and around the edge of the city, as well as in the central areas with direct access to the "fountain". The other spaces of Xanadu were warmer in proportion to the number of people generating body-heat, to rebound off of the insulating crystals. So, all the interiors which we visited were fairly crowded, creating an effect somewhere between toasty and stifling warm.

I was proud and disappointed, for after several hours I remembered that I had a shift at Elements to get back to. I could only imagine that Saturdays would be even more lucrative than Fridays and my long term goal still centered around me making as much money as possible. The disappointing bit was having to leave the fascinating geography and sociology lesson. Plus, the idea of not capitalizing on every minute of Wade’s twenty-four hour concierge access, seemed wasteful.

Especially, when Iron Wade also insisted on returning with me to our oak haven, it was his money to throw away, though. Since the dour fellow was not feeling talkative on our return journey, I could only speculate that he was too scared to be alone with the gilled Theresa. I found it impossible to believe that Wade was more concerned with my ability to make it home safely on my own.

 

If Raion-ju’s feline nature was responsible for his uncommunicative personality, then it at least it also made him sleep and wake at strange times throughout the day. Tegan Bramblerose was far too tired to walk me back to Athens, yet Rai was as amenable as his flat expression ever allowed. Or course, the large cat-fellows strides meant that I had to jog my way through the skitter sounds and coppery-blood scents of the nighttime Briar. On the other hand, we made great time and nothing dared approach the prowling Raion-ju.

Elements indeed proved worth forfeiting time learning about the Red Court of the Western territories. I effectively made as much money in one night as I had the previous two working days combined. Thus, giving me the monetary cushion I had sought, to let me comfortably start experimenting with alternative means of greater financial success, a week ahead of my original predictions.

          Gavin Granitbane had made his own way into work, as I had been outside of phone contact and running to the last possible minute. However, I gave the brick lug a ride back to our rental. I was simply too tired to make another half-hour hike through the Edge Maze, even if we could have gotten a hold of one of our geode-capable comrades. And Gavin expressed no interest one way or the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:


	14. Chapter 14

_ahhh…haaa… ahhh…haaa… ahhh…haaa…_

Snork _,_ mph _, rph… snooze…_

_ahhh…haaa… ahhh…haaa… ahhh…haaa…_

Day 13: Sunday, November 20th

My waking sigh of mingled wistful relief and minute discontent echoed in the barren bedroom. It was grand to have slept through another night free of memorable dreams or nightmare. Yet, I was still waking on my air-mattress in the unadorned rental property, rather than the comforts of Amy’s oak. At least the sounds of bustling and smells of cooking bacon encouraged me that my housemates were taking care of breakfast. Although, that also meant that was probably last to the shower and its slow to warm small hot-water tank.

          I attempted to give the water-heater some time to do its job and deflated and packed away my bed supplies, before braving the bathroom. Iron Wade had been snoring away the night before, hen Gavin and I had got back from Elements, so I was not terribly surprised to discover most of my colleagues moving about. It did mean, though, that maximum water had been used, so my delay tactic had been futile and the shower was practically icy. So, I allowed myself to indulge in a little wyrd expenditure and took my shower in the comfort of Summer’s Embrace. I could not get the water to feel any warmer than body temperature, however that was more than enough considering the alternative.

          I knew that I could forage wyrd from several relatively easily accessed locations. Even so, I remained frugal in my use of the energy. I still had not how rapidly my day-to-day experiences effected the wyrd which I had collected. So, unless I was within sight of a replenishing source, I did not want to short myself.

          Upon exiting the bathroom, Tegan Bramblerose smiled teasingly, "How was the water?"

Thanks to my glamour use, I was able to shrug and act as if I were too tough to notice the icy inconvenience. Which satisfied me on a couple of levels. Firstly, the second best response to being teased was to have it really not effect me. The best response, of course, was to have a more devastating jibe with which to retort. The other satisfying aspect of my exchange with Tegan, though, was that she clearly had not cottoned onto my Summer’s Embrace glamour.

Ever since my allies had clammed up about their dreamemberings and their glamorous abilities, I had done the same. I paid enough attention to learn what I needed to from them. So, if they had not deduced my disregard of the weather, for the past few of days, then that was their own unobservant faults.

          Mixed in with my other milling thoughts, while I plated the tail end of breakfast’s offerings, was an interest in why so many of my housemates were present. Not that I would give any of them the satisfaction of asking outright. What goes around comes around, after all and they had ignored me a lot over the previous couple of weeks.

          Even though I was playing the I’m-too-cool-to-care game, outwardly, I did keep wondering about why Tegan, Iron Wade, Freerunner, and especially Raion-ju had chosen to join me and Mr. Granitbane in our mundane hovel. So, in typical ironic fashion, it was Sean Tallwind that I found out about first.

          “Oh, hey!” Gavin wagged a finger at Wade and Miss Bramblerose, as I seated myself on the carpet, “Tell Tommy, what you told me.” He turned to me. “I was asking if Mil… um, Sean, was going to be joining us…”

“We were getting ready to hike over here.” Tegan sat cross-legged in her tight jeans and maximally blue and green flannel and nodded to Wade. “I thought, um, Sean Tallwind might want to join us, but there was no answer at his door..” She shrugged elegant shoulders. “So I asked Amy, if she knew where Sean was and if he was okay.”

The other men in the room sniggered.

Tegan suppressed a smile in order to continue, “Amy did that phase out of the wall thing and she looked upset, arms crossed and set jaw. Then she pointed out into the branches and down a little, before re-crossing her arms and telling me, ‘He’s having some alone time, to think.’ What I saw was, like a man-sized peapod made of giant oak-leaves, hanging about six-feet off of the ground."

“What did he do?” I asked, in spite of my resolve to act nonplused.

More sniggering men, while Tegan merely nodded seriously, “I asked that too. And Amy wouldn’t come right out and say, but it was pretty clear that he had made some sort of pass or lewd comment to her.”

I nodded understanding and let a feint smile bend my thick lips. I appreciated the humor of the situation which cause my allies to giggle and snigger. On the other hand, I was absorbing the information as a profound lesson for tempering my own behavior towards the luscious dryad. A lesson that I immediately applied to Tegan Bramblerose, as well, in light of the look she gave hen retelling the tale.

          As I processed that information and tucked into my breakfast burrito, my cohorts were well into their meal and returned to their conversation. Unsurprisingly, whatever I may have missed earlier, wound up getting repeated in spiraling conversational loops. It was Tegan and Gavin trying to talk about their day, the day before, and each felt the other kept leaving out key details, which led to obtuse tangents, which prompted one of the rest of us for clarification, which cause Tegan or Gavin to restate some detail or other, which the co-narrator would find insufficient, and so on.

For my dearest readers, sanity, I have reconstructed here a simplified version. Starting with, the auburn-haired beauty and the rough-edge muscleman had also visited Sin City on Saturday.

“I wanted to look into Duchy d'Argent,” Tegan tucked her silky hair behind her tapered left ear, “um, the Silver Duchy… anyway, I thought I was worth checking out like we did with d’Or. Only Gavin insisted that I needed a chaperone.” She rolled her emerald eyes.. “So, getting in is similar to the golden Duchy. In the Mirage they have Siegfried and Roy's Secret Garden which is a white tiger and dolphin habitat and you go in there.”

“It was cool,” Gavin interjected, “they honored our passes to the Golden Duchy, ay no extra charge.”

I nodded agreement. That was very cool, since our d’Or lanyards ha not mentioned that perk.

“Anyway,” Tegan continued, after swallowing her mouthful of burrito, “d’Argent like a cross between a classic middle-eastern tent bazaar and Roman gladiatorial arenas. There’s games and refreshments, like at the Pleasure Gardens, but mostly everyone is focused on the dozen or so small fighting pits. Spirit-touched of all kinds either challenge each other or bet on fights in progress.”

          "We watched one fight," the coarse red-orange muscle man said from his preferred spot, standing near the hallway entrance, "where an eight foot tall, lumpy, muscle guy beat the snot out of Nick." He gestured ceiling high with his own fairly lumpy hand.

          "Who's Nick?" Wade, 'Runner, and I said, almost in unison and with the same level of resigned exasperation at having to figure out yet another piece of data.

          "He's a fighter." Gavin offered unfazed by our frustration. "He's like part stag." His unoccupied blocky hand was held open, thumb to forehead and pinky forward, "like a ten point rack." The hand went to the plate in his other mitt and scooped up his burrito. "And, Tegan healed him."

          "He had dislocated his shoulder." Miss Bramblerose took over the narrative, shrugging her own flannel covered shoulders. "So, I offered to use my Breath of Comfort, in exchange for some answers." She tipped her fresh-squeezed orange-juice to her rose petal lips, then set the glass on the carpeted floor between her firm thighs, for support. "Mostly, it was how the fighting pits worked. Like, anyone can fight anyone, as long as the fighters agree to terms. The fighters usually have a direct bet with each other and a proxy to bet for them with the spectators." She absentmindedly held one well-manicured hand up and slowly flipped it from side to side, like a game show model displaying prizes. "Sometimes the duchy awards prizes as well, or offers purses to fight particularly well known fighters." The green eyed lass stopped gesturing, lifted her burrito, took a bite, chewed, and went on—gesturing with the breakfast wrap. "To the death, or first blood, or surrender, or whatever is agreed to by the fighters. But that is mostly like guidelines, since it’s all real fighting and it’s pretty hard to tell if a punch is going to just bruise or actually KO someone, before throwing it." She shrugged and ate a little more. "Nickolas made it seem like the place was all about barter and betting, but he was focused on making money."

          "That's when I headed back here." Gavin shrugged his squarish shoulders. "I had to make my shift at Elements." Blue-marble eyes may have narrowed at me briefly, before his half-chiseled head nodded favorably to Rai.

          Which I assumed meant that Rai had walked Gavin into Athens, then returned to our haven in time to take me on the same journey. I blinked in surprise at the stoic fellows thoughtfulness. Still waters must run deep and so forth. So, I made a mental note to get Raion-ju something nice, the next time I was in Vegas.

          Meanwhile, Tegan nodded, causing her silky pony tail and bangs to bob, swallowed, and got a distant look in her large emerald-eyes, for a moment. "I stayed, to try my gifts at poker."

          My next personal plan involved doing much the same. So, I was eager to hear the results of Miss Bramblerose’s beta test. However, I tried to mask my enthusiasm, as I was convinced that it would cause my alluring ally to become even more coy, just to toy with me.

          Tegan took a breath, straining the buttons of her green and blue cross-hatched flannel, and straightened her shirt cuffs, as she organized her thoughts. The fine featured lass continued, more methodically, laying out events in the order they occurred, "I was worried about upsetting the duchy by using my gifts there or in the Mirage. So, I went next door to Caesar's Palace… I found a poker table that didn't have any changelings. I didn't want to risk others calling me out for cheating." She shrugged one shoulder. "Not that I know if anyone can tell what I was doing, or if it even would be considered cheating, really. Still, better safe than sorry, right? Anyway, I was pretty successful, mostly by simple suggestions and letting my scent do the work, but I used up some wyrd too."

          I was reassured to hear that, at least, one of my associates was coming to grips with our new loves, enough to start figuring out the parameters and usefulness of their glamours. I also wondered if the ravishing redhead new the secrets to Fairest Tongue, odds were she did. Fate was just to relentless to no give Tegan every single method of manipulating the minds of those around her. My musings also flipped a few puzzle pieces into place and I concluded that Tegan Bramblerose was a bloomwell.

I had read about many different types of spirit-touched, in the rare books collection, and a few different sources made references to bloomwells. Some tales claimed bloomwells to be a singular type of fae, while others had them as a broader category into which fit dryads, wood-wives, and other enticing floral affiliated fae. Either way, Tegan clearly fit the bill and I frowned with embarrassment at not having made the connection sooner. So, my piecemeal mental state had apparently not been improving as much as I had been telling myself that it had.

On the other hand, my studies had suggested that it was possible to build up resistances to specific bloomwell’s supernatural wiles, via conscious effort. So, I looked forward to testing the theory in conjunction to both Tegan Bramblerose and Amaryllis. Although, I knew that I was mostly assuming that Amy had similar glamours… unless, convincing our collective to claim her as a haven and getting us to hunt the vermicious k’nid and burry that fence, counted as the dryad manipulating us… So, yeah, Amy probably was a bloomwell.

          Tegan had continued her narrative and I was brought out of my introspections as she absentmindedly cupped the nape of her slender neck and gently rolled her head from side to side, "I caught the attention of a high roller. He was kind of cute and I figured why not have a little more fun. So, I accepted his invitation to see his executive suite."

          As the bloomwell bombshell's audience were all men, there was a collective intake of breath, through clenched teeth, indicating, "That was a bad idea. As a guy, I know what that guy was thinking. And a hot girl going to his suite, alone, was a bad idea." On the other hand, Tegan was there relaying the story and she did not seem worse for wear. Personally, I also filed away the fact that Miss Bramblerose found the man “cute”. Not that the athletic lass’s sexual preferences were any of my business, really. The information merely gave me a glimmer of hope.

          Tegan’s eyes rolled, at our non-verbal comment, although her alabaster cheeks also blossomed a delicate pink.

          Iron Wade, as subtle as two stop-sign, wiped his mouth and redundantly asked, "What were you thinking?"

          Tegan could not quite explain what she was expecting, she just edged around the subject a little before getting back to her point. Since I had already guessed that the attractive woman might have been looking for a one night stand, I assumed the others had as well. I could not imagine why the emerald-eyed lass would be embarrassed to say so in front of the group, though.

          "Anyway, the point is," Tegan got the story back on track, "we were at his room's wet-bar and everything got weird." Her pouty velveteen-lips set firm and her crystalline-eyes became a bit glossier. "I don't really know what set him off. I mean he was coming on kind of strong, but then… well, it was like he was trying to make me act different, with his words. Sort of like I do to other people, only it didn’t affect me at all and he got pissed and changed."

          Tegan drank some juice and smoothed her delicate hands along her legs. "His eyes glowed red and he grew fangs and then he was trying to drink my blood."

          "I knew it!" I jumped to my feet in vindication and pointed, first at Tegan then around the room. "Vampires!"

          "Well," Mr. the Man of Steal made a sit and relax, patting gesture with both scarred hands, "we don't know that for sure, yet. It cou…"

          Tegan shook her head, pony tail whipping back and forth like a flame in high winds, and cut Iron Wade off with calm but firm words. "He was a vampire, no two ways about it. He called himself Reggie… well, Archibald "Reggie" Reginald Venture specifically. And he claimed that Caesar's was his. It was not clear whether he meant as owner, or just hunting grounds."

          "So…did he drink your blood?" Asked Gavin, somewhat meekly.

          "Can erm he even urm drink yourrr blood?" Freerunner inquired, from the corner of the room, where he had his legs curled beneath himself. "I rrrmph mean urm ain't yourrrph blood more rrmm like sap?" His face was set in earnest concern, without hint of mockery.

          Even though the svelt man's question seemed both presumptuous and personal,. Although, it also showed that another of my allies had been paying attention to someone else’s supernatural changes. Thus, making me adjust my working theory to suggest that the Folk had beaten such curiosity so far out of the more unfortunate looking changelings, that it took them all longer to regain it in the mundane world, if it ever came back at all.

          " _I_ don't know." Tegan snapped at 'Runner, defensively, before addressing Gavin. "And no," her tone and eyes softened slightly, "he did not drink my blood." The enchantress took another shirt-stretching centering breath. "He came at me and I countered. Some bottles got broke and a lamp. He was faster than he should have been, but my martial arts training and clear head… and his confusion at my clear headedness, kept us pretty equal. I was able to negotiate a limited truce, to get out of there. But, his pride was hurt and he's the type to hold a grudge. So, I don't think any of us should go into Caesar's.”

          Redcaps in Athens and vampires in Vegas: I chewed angrily, as I was getting fed-up with bullies. I had more important things on which I wanted to concentrate, yet I could not risk these dangers causing me trouble when my plans got to more delicate stages. My colleagues seemed to have similar thoughts, as the conversation shifted over to discussing the frat-caps and their recent battery of Sean Tallwind.

          Of course, without the focus of a specific story to be told, the dialog degraded into an even more chaotic roundabout. While no-one took sides per se, there was generally two points of view: Leave them alone and drive them off. The former was highlighted with statements of it being our responsibility for causing the 'caps to become so dangerous. When Gavin made that point for a third or fourth time, I could not stop myself from responding, "Let's face it, those frat-holes were gearing up to greater and greater violence anyway." I pointed out of our curtain-free picture-window. "Our neighbor Larry and what we saw in their garage should be proof enough of that. All we did, or Tallwind did, or whatever, was remove their stable base of operations."

          In the end, we all planned again to take the fight to the bloody-headed frat-caps. For my part, I understood that my choleric humor fueled such directness within me, I could not quite figure out what motivated my allies. Regardless of the underlying motivations, though, ‘Runner and I did insist that driving the redcaps out of Athens was really as far as we wanted to go conflict wise. Police captivity would have been preferred, only we did not believe it possible. And, in spite of participating in the k’nid kill, some of us just were not ready to go that far against other spirit-touched, no matter how violent they were.

          The six of us resolved to set up a new ambush, with greater resolve to follow through as a group. Although, that required us to know where and when our quarry would be. My hope was that we would be able to find and deal with each redcap one at a time.

          "So rmph, how do rrurr we find 'em rrirr anyway?" Freerunner garrumphed the question which I had just been contemplating.

          "Tallwind's supposed to be a detective, maybe we should go to the oak and ask him?" Iron Wade replied, walking his dirty dishes to the kitchen.

          "Sure…" I agreed halfheartedly, “If Amy’s let him out of the pod-thing Tegan mentioned.” I was not convinced of Sean Tallwind's claimed profession, anyway. "How about this, what do we know about the redcaps? Other than they're psychos and they lost their house."

          After a few minutes brainstorming we had a short list: need regular fresh blood for their hats, like to act as a pack, heavy drinker, slovenly, and apparently irrationally desperate after the fire. All facts which I could have culled on my own from my notes, yet got my companions to prove that if necessary they could think and remember recent events.

          "Well, if they were going out and getting drunk so much," I observed, "they must have had a bar or liquor store they went to pretty regularly, right?"

          "Pretty good, Tommy, that makes sense" Gavin nodded and pointed a squared-off digit at me, "They probably made trouble anywhere they went, too. So, I can ask the other bouncers at Elements if they know anything, several of those guys work two or three different clubs."

          "That's good." Tegan had been standing with her arms crossed, adding even more lift and compression to her breasts, she lifted one hand to tap a knuckle on her gently tapered chin and chewed on the right side of her plump lower lip. "I could probably talk to officer Braeden, he might have some more inside Intel."

          "Who's Officer Braeden?" Wade beat me to the question.

          Pretty Miss Bramblerose let out an exasperated sigh and rolled jewel green eyes. "He's the cop I convinced to let me in to see the victims that the redcaps hospitalized."

          After a few more unnecessary questions, Tegan made it clear to all that she intended to go on a coffee date or two with Officer Braeden and employ her bloomwell "gifts" to draw out police data regarding the case. Although, I continued to believe that the date was more important to the lithe lass and the information gathering was just an excuse to get her housemates out of her personal business.

          Meanwhile, Iron Wade the Man of Steal remained adamant about trying to secure Sean Tallwind’s assistance. So, the dour fencer cajoled Raion-ju into leading them both back to our oak-haven. Since the quiet cat-man continued to seem amiable to wandering the Thorns, I spoke up before the duo headed off.

          “Hey, Rai,” I rubbed the back of my neck, “since, um, Tegan’s going to be busy, could you meet me at Sheaves & Leaves around lunch time? I buy you lunch and then we can head back to the oak?”

          Raion-ju nodded his slow thoughtful nod and I felt the familiar _hum-tug_ settle in my chest. I also saw a spark in the big guy's minty cat eyes which reassured me that he intended to follow through, not just forget about me and take a nap or something.

          For my part of the find-the-bloodthirsty-enemies plan, I joined 'Runner searching the internet for potential redcap haunts or possible sightings. My wily whiskered research-partner had acquired a secondhand laptop at some point. So, I jealously added stars to the circles and underlines which I had apparently already made around my notes to “Get smart phone and/or laptop”. As it was, I spent several more hours in the Athens Public Library, sorting through current reports of vandalizations, assaults, missing persons, and missing pets. I failed to identify any connections to the psycho frat-monsters. Then I reviewed various Las Vegas casino websites, for a while.

          While making notes on my research, I came across my Elements work schedule and realized that opening shift that evening did not really suit my plans. So, after I wrapped up in the library, I made a call from my black Festiva, to my co-worker Justin. I would have preferred to contact one of the other, less “tenured” bartenders, however Justin’s was the only number that I had gotten, other than Manager Dave’s.

          I knew, going into the conversation, that Justin was not going to want to switch schedules with me. So, I resorted to magical persuasion, burning through as much wyrd as I could to achieve my goal. Since I was fairly confident that my glamours would not traverse the phone signals, I could not effect my colleague with Fickle Fortune. So, I relied on Fairest Tongue and Fortune’s Favor to maximize the odds of me saying the right things, in the right ways, at the right moments. Unfortunately, due to some of the restrictive secrets of my luck glamours, there was a limited amount that I could influence my fate, without inviting some Gyr generated backlash.

          I was normally a poor to terrible liar, yet my supernaturally augmented brain came up with, "My brother’s been in a car-wreck and I need to get to a hospital in Columbus." My charmed mouth made it sound real, even to me. Justin not only bought it and agreed to switch shifts, he told me to call “if my brother was really bad off” and he’d work a double to cover me.

          I set an alert reminder in my phone to make sure that I made my new shift at Elements. I also made a note in my book “Tom will have been very lucky and only had broken arm and some cracked ribs”. Not sure how long I was ultimately going to need the Elements job, I did not want to burn any bridges if I could avoid it. Bridges like an annoyed Justin, because even if he said it was okay, I knew that I would be irked if made to work a double at the last minute, and that stuff festers. Not to mention the likelihood of me forgetting aspects of the lie over time, so the less I took advantage of the situation the easier it would be to ask for forgiveness—if needed. Plus, the evening pay would probably still be necessary.

          Before heading to lunch, my note review session had also reminded me to, stop and make some mundane purchases, at a couple of stores. Then, I parked once more in the gravel lot of Ariadne's Sheaves & Leaves, two-story mortal world façade. I was mildly surprised with the number of other vehicles in the nearly full parking area.

          I sighed as I passed through the main entrance, as Philomena was busy with customers. Rosa too was busy with a steady stream of diners. It would be clarified for me later that since Sheaves Leaves was one of the few small shops open on a Sunday, they tended to do a brusque business. So, after waiting in line with a largely normal human clientele, I bought three of the day’s lunch specials and headed through the member’s only entrance to the rare books and beyond.

          When I quietly explained that I wanted to eat in the back garden, Rosa had offered to pack my order in a simple basket. I would have to make sure to return the basket and serving-ware, before I left, however it also meant that I would not risk spilling or smearing anything on the rare books as I passed through. Plus, it was just more civilized than eating from cardboard.

Better still, the tea-shop had apparently not changed its prices since some time just after World War II. So, I got three hefty helpings for half of what any other boutique eatery would have charged for a single meal.

          In the garden, I met Raion-ju and fulfilled my half of our little bargain, by eating one of the lunches and giving him the other two. The _gnut-muh_ unspooling sensation which I felt was light and brief, yet remarkably fulfilling. The two of us picnicked in silence, in the crisp air, under the cloud covered sky. My companion finished both of his meals, shortly before I completed mine. Then the panther-like lad led me back to our oaken-home.

          As always the Inbetween was shrouded gloom and unsettling sounds and incongruous smells. I stayed as close to loping Raion-ju as I could, considering his fluid predatory-grace moving through the vines and brambles. I felt confident nothing would be so foolish as to attack the prowling pile of sinew. On the other hand, I was not sure that Rai would notice, or care, if I were picked off by something clever enough to snatch me from behind.

          At our haven, I quickly spied the fairly alien-looking pod which Tegan had described. The unnatural growth seemed intact. When asked, Amy explained that Iron Wade was sulking in his room, so I inferred that the fencer’s negotiating skills had been insufficient to liberate Tallwind from his time-out.

 

Outside of our boulder-niche portal, I struck to light one of the new wooden and water-proofed camping matches, which I had purchased prior to lunch, spit the tiny flare out, and glamoured myself into another Summer's Embrace for my hike through sunny Red Rock Canyon. I almost tossed the spent matchstick aside, then worried that it could lead some nosy fae to our backdoor, so I replaced it with its unused brethren. All while I experienced waves of delight and trepidation over my first unaccompanied hike through the Nevada desert.

          I reflected on how little privacy I had really experience, since waking as a free and addled spirit-touched. On the other hand, I was no outdoorsman, nor well suited to fending off possible attackers. I took a deep breath, adjusted my backpack (full of three time more water than usual), and squared my slender shoulders. While the feeling of exposure was something I would rather have done without, I chose to accept the solitude as soothing and trust that I was half as clever as I thought I was. Thus, capable of getting myself out of any tough spots that may arise.

          Besides, I wanted to test my success with gambling and glamour use in Sin City. Like Tegan Bramblerose, I really did not want any of my haven-mates making any unsolicited observations about my actions. Iron Wade's earlier blab about my slot-machine winnings and Tegan's volunteering that ne should spend the money on the group had been bad enough once. There was no way that I would be able to bank a proper savings with that kind of “support”. Especially, when casino security could be anywhere and I could not count on my allies to keep their big mouths shut.

          My travel worries had been unfounded. I arrived at he Red Rock Tourist Center and then the Vegas Strip, without incident, albeit dustier.

          Before gambling, my first stop was to see Concierge Theresa in the Gardens of Pleasure. Since Iron Wade the Man of Steal had paid for twenty-four hours worth of concierge service, the night before, I was not going to let it go to waste—even if he was. Also, as it was the final day of my guest-pass to the Golden Duchy, I wanted to make sure that I experienced as much of the faery court, in case my plans backfired and I could not afford to replace the ticket.

          Theresa provided an early high-tea, amongst the pillows on the cordoned off hillock in the middle of the gardens. The semi-aquatic service specialist filled in more details similar to the previous day’s sightseeing tour. Even though, Theresa did not spend much time in the mundane casinos of Vegas Above, she was able to verify most of what I had researched.

          Then I proceeded with my gambling experiment. Starting with a stop at the Mandalay bay Customer Service Desk and acquiring an Mlife Player’s Club Card, under my false identity “Thomas White”. Various casinos honored different player’s clubs in order to dole out perks and complimentary vouchers to the customers who spend more money. I had considered not joining the club to which both Red Court Duchies were affiliated, because I had been concerned about being labeled a poacher of some sort. However, the other major player’s club included Caesar’s Place and, in light of Tegan’s vampire story, I wanted to avoid any connections to that place. Plus, Theresa had confirmed that I long as I did not take much directly from Mandalay Bay or the Mirage, then I should be fine.

          My first serious glamour enhanced gambling was at the Luxor. I went in assuming that since the Luxor and Mandalay Bay were connected by the enclosed boutique mall Mandalay Place that I would be able to bolt back to the relative safety of the Pleasure Gardens, should anything go catastrophically wrong with my endeavors.

I doubted that I would be returning the Strip’s black pyramid in the future, though. The casino was nearly as dark on the inside as theist obsidian exterior. Also, if Dark Sol ever returned from her dalliance with Springheeled Jack, I would need to recommend the Luxor to her for the sheer morbid undertone. The most over thing I could point to was the exhibit of actual RMS Titanic salvage, yet there was a pervasive hint of celebrated death through out the building.

          In spite of the décor, my gambling went as I had anticipated. I played Poker, so I was sure to not be playing against the house, as a way to further minimize casino scrutiny. Specifically I played Texas Hold’em as it offer the easy to track and manipulate odds. In addition to strategic employment of both of my probability altering glamours, I also used Fairest Tongue and a chatty persona.

I pretended that I was Gavin Granitbane, as I kept up a stream of generally inane chatter, at the poker table. Even when my glamours had worn off, my talkativeness tended to irritate and distract my opponents into making mistakes. As an unforeseen bonus, the ire that I provokes in my fellow gamblers was easily threshed into wyrd to offset some of what I had used to cast my glamours.

          My magic was neither all encompassing, nor infallible. So, during the hour, or so, that I spent playing twenty-five dollar buy-in ‘Hold'em, I lost, or folded, many more hands than I won. However, the pots I did take were the larger ones netting me a tidy overall profit. Not to mention all of the points that I was accruing on my Mlife Player’s Club. Win or loose the card only tracked the amounts bet (as recorded by the dealer) and more money bet equaled more points, which added up to more comps.

          Playing poker had an additional thrill, beyond just successfully experimenting with my glamours and threshing rage-fantasies. Every hand dealt was another challenge, a combat of perceptions and bluffs. I could practically feel Summerfire standing behind me smiling with fierce approval. I had experienced the same sensation when my gang fought the manticore and the vermicious k’nid, although the gambling was much more personally satisfying.

          Because of the esoteric secrets which comprised my Fortune’s Favor glamour, I had to wait until after sunset, before I could recreate the experiment. So, I walked, as leisurely as possible, through the constant roiling mass of humanity along Las Vegas Boulevard. With more confidence in my methodology, I was willing to venture beyond the immediate proximity of the Golden Duchy and stepped into Excalibur. At that buffet, I was able to put together a dinner which was not too befouled with chemical additives and preservatives. Then, using my researched notes for sunset times and my cell-phone’s clock, I knew precise win I could find a new ‘Hold’em table. The main difference was that my earlier success had afforded me enough profit to move up to a one-hundred dollar buy-in table.

I repeated my methods at one of Excalibur's hundred dollar buy in Hold'em tables.

          It took a little longer to locate a table in the Excalibur, because the first coupled I found had at least one spirit-touched already playing. I did not see any reason to risk those strangers having glamours to detect or thwart my own. So, I moved on and was rewarded with a foolishly arrogant table. A couple of my new poker opponents had a real hard time accepting that a motor-mouth goof, who did not seem to pay attention to the game, could possibly be a better card-player than them. Sadly, their confusion provided no wyrd. On the other hand, it was easy to goad them into large pot commitments and I won an exceptional amount of money.

          As I cashed in my winning, a casino employee came over to me. I tensed up, expecting that security had tagged me somehow. Only instead of a thick-necked jarhead type, the person was a pretty lady, who just wanted to offer me my first Mlife perk. I had already been receiving free drinks, but that was pretty common at any level. It turned out that in just a couple of hours of gambling I had bet enough money to warrant Excalibur giving me two tickets to their live joust/dinner show—a one-hundred-and-thirty dollar value. I beamed and profusely thanked the concierge lady.

          As an additional bonus, my Mlife card functioned as a debit line, limited to affiliated casinos and resorts, for whatever winning I chose to keep therein. I had been concerned that the shadow-eater thing which wore my face and claimed my name might be trying to locate the money that I had liberated from my old bank account. So, even if that Fetch-Tom were able to track the wire transfer to the fictitious Thomas White, he would still be hard pressed to find the secure Mlife funds.

I headed back into the teaming Sic City, juggling thoughts of my free-bee tickets. My Tournament of Kings comps expired in a week, so I either needed to make time to go, or trade them somewhere. I was interested in the new spectacle. On the other hand, I did not want to deal with deciding on a time. Plus, whom would I take? Thoughts of asking Tegan reminded me of vampires, which led to worries about redcaps. Then I was thinking about Athens in terms of locations, which made me wonder where my shadow-eater duplicate was likely to hang out and should I avoid those places…

         

Even with my cell-phone's reminder, I barely made it to Elements in time. Even though, I accounted for the three hour time difference, between Nevada and Ohio, only worked in my favor one way, I had not really calculated the bus ride to Red Rock and the hiking through both the State Park and the Thorn Maze very accurately. Even more so, when I had to wait at our haven for a Briar-guide. Plus, when Tegan Bramblerose did come out of her room, more time was spent convincing her to walk me through the ominous nighttime Inbetween.

          I seriously consider trying to make my own way through the Briar. Except that I knew Tegan’s Briar Finding glamour would save more time than I lost negotiating the guide. Plus, would avoid faery forest dangers. Even so, "learn to find my own way to and from oak" was added to my list of goals.

          Thanking Justin effusively for covering my shift, I handed him the new Kendrick Lamar CD. I claimed the hospital gift shop had carried the album, while in reality it had been one of my mundane purchases earlier in the day. Justin was grateful and surprised enough to not ask a lot of questions about my brother’s condition. So, I was extra glad that my dubious memory had retained having heard the bartender mentioning wanting the CD the night before.

          As it was Sunday, business was slow. Added to my newly confirmed source of much easier money, I felt freer risk getting fired and mess with some customers. Technically, I was experimenting further with threshing wyrd.

          I got into a shouting match with one guy. Later, two drunk girls actually scrambled over the bar and one came at me with a vodka bottle. I dodged the assault, until Gavin and one of the other bouncers carried the girls outside. In the end I was pay poor, but wyrd rich.

          In between my how-to-piss-off-patrons tests, I also tried to locate gossip and rumors of potential frat-cap activities. My efforts resulted in hear from some preppy frat-guys who were commiserating about being hassled by a jock gang, all of whom had bright-red Cincinnati Reds caps). Apparently, the gang caused trouble at various other clubs, but had actually jumped one of the preppy kids, just the other night, outside f O’Malley’s sports bar.

          Gavin, however, had even greater success from talking with the other bouncers. The stony fellow shared what he learned with me, as I drove us home, then again with the rest of our companions as he encountered them.

          "So, yeah, I was right. Benny works the door at a couple of other places and so does Craig." The block shaped man said from my passenger seat. "They said they regularly have trouble with a particular group of frat guys… the facial descriptions were just normal, no sharpened teeth or nothin', but everything else seemed to match with our quarry. I mean they said they all wore Reds' ball caps, but that's probably just whatever magic hides us hiding them too."

          Mr. Granitbane and I lucked out and Raion-ju answered his phone, then agreed to lead us back to our oak tree. So, I parked once more at Sheaves & Leaves and moved through the stores eerie after hours interior as swiftly as I could. Then I made certain to stay between Rai and Gavin Granitbane as we trudged once more through the now frost-coated blackness of the chokingly thick Briar foliage. The sounds of distant and not distant enough creaks, moans, and skitters, combined with the smell of blood, with blood, and riled me up, by the time we reached Amy's haven. My two allies, though, seemed more energized than agitated by the journey. At least, the short trip up to my room, pajamas, and comfy bed had me relaxed enough to slip quick and easy off to sleep.

         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:


	15. Chapter 15

You’re sitting and waiting in the bucket seat. Bored and waiting and buckled in. Your comic book is out of reach on the floor and you can’t quite see over the door and out the window. Looking is just sky. There’s probably some really cool cars park right next to you, something sleek and racy. Not like the boring Festiva you're in.

          You kick your feet for something to do. You could unbuckle the seatbelt and reach down for your comic, or stand on the seat and look around, but mom would be back soon and you would just have to buckle up again anyway… Oh, but now the car is moving again. Mom must have got in while you were daydreaming.

          No, wait, mom's not back. The driver's seat is empty. The car is moving though, poles and truck sides keep passing by the windows. You push up with your arms to strain against the seatbelt and see if the car will roll into the curb… Only there is no curb. There's road and traffic. Your car is driving down the freeway and somehow you're in the passenger seat.

          You reach over and grab the steering wheel, but can't work your seatbelt with just one little sausagey hand. The car seems to be on cruise control, but you really need to stop and switch seats. You try and reach your long adolescent leg over the dividing hump and cup holders. Twist to watch road and steer and twist different and stretch leg and grope for the belt release and, and, and…

         

Day 14: Monday, November 21st

I woke with sluggish leisurely stretch. Had I been dreaming?... Something about my mother being a racecar-driver or something?... I shook my head and the piece still would not fall together. Moving through my morning ablutions on auto-pilot, I tried to remember the nocturnal imagery, or even how it had felt. My chest tightened with the yearning to see my mother’s face, or have her next to me again. in equal measure my blood raced with the thought of getting behind the wheel of a souped up formula-one racer. Ultimately, I settled for having slept well and surprising the impulses to reach out to my parents.

          With a shadow-eater druggy scum-bad still out there, I did not want to confuse my family any more than needed. It was going to be hard enough to restore a connection, once I got rid of Fetch-Tom. I did not need to add absurd sitcom tropes of confusing which Tom said or did what.

          I was finally helped out of my mild funk at breakfast. Amaryllis provided me with a cheese-less omelet, full of vegetables. I was surprised that it had taken the dryad so long to make my request, I vaguely recalled her saying the eggs would take some doing, even so it must have been a week. My confusion of timing was heavily offset by my pleasure that Amy had cared enough to remember at all, though. My “I’m special” feeling was compounded when I noticed that I was the only diner around the large almost circular oak-table with an omelet (cheese-free, though it had been). My associates were being served lovely looking toasty-brown griddle cakes with berry compote and syrup. I chose to ask Amy about my special treatment later, rather than draw the attention of my unpredictable haven-mates.

          Six of us were positioned around the large dining table, formed of a single horizontal cross-section of a massive oak tree's trunk, concentric rings wax-polished to a glossy finish. Each of our party had a matching simple and sturdy oak chair. My back was to the kitchen area; its clay oven and stove top, to one side of a counter large enough for a side of beef, and the wooden ice box to the other. The also clay-like Gavin Granitbane sat to my immediate left and to his was an empty seat, in the shadowy space of the room. Then came Raion-ju's looming mass, actually casting the majority of shadow on Dark Sol's empty chair. Next sat Iron Wade the Man of Steal, looking worn and flexing the tiny pale scars, along his fingers and forearms, whenever he was not using his hands to eat. To Wade's left and under the room's round window, Tegan Bramblerose sat silhouetted by the morning sun, streaming in behind her, causing the loose waves of her auburn-hair to blaze a silky halo. Another empty chair sat between Tegan and Freerunner, where Sean Tallwind would have tried to sit had he not been hanging within a pod outside. In the final chair, the hairy, swimmer's body of ‘Runner, hunched over his plate.

          There was space enough for a ninth chair between me and ‘Runner. That space was allotted for Amaryllis, who needed no seat as she simply melded with the floor to "stand" at the appropriate eye level, for the table—on the rare occasions that she actually joined us, at the table, at all.

          Our seats were not assigned per se, whatever the most in shadowed chair happened to be, at a particular meal, was designated as Sol's for example. It had been hard to not slide in next to group’s auburn and emerald beauty. Especially, as the seat I did select left Tegan's heart-shaped face so heavily shaded. On the other hand I simply could not pass up the delight of being able to look out of the window and seeing Tallwind’s leafy chamber, swaying gently in the autumnal breeze.

          Breakfast’s “story time” centered on gathered redcap gossip. Gavin and I provided the most detailed insights, while everyone else’s effort served as speculative corroboration.. So, we agreed that more investigation was obviously needed.

Part of me wanted to share the thrill of success which I had experienced the day before. However, I was convinced that my group’s inability to express interest or empathy would suck the enthusiasm out of my triumph. Miss Bramblerose and ‘Runner, would probably listen politely, at least, yet without real engagement, unless they also happened to care about the subject. Plus, I did not want any of my roommates misinterpreting my tale as an offer to carry them financially.

          As I ate and thought, I caught Iron Wade talking to Gavin and Rai, “…be fine. We’d have to start slow and make sure to negotiate fights with zero lethal potential, but either of you could do it.” He cut and scooped griddle-cakes, as he spoke. “Plus, we might be able to work out some team stuff, where you both go in together.”

          “We?” Raion-ju raised one eyebrow, before turning back to his plate.

          “Sure,” Wade's dry voice confirmed, “I was a college coach, so I’ll help you work out.” He half shrugged. ”And I can totally help set up the fights and side bets at the duchy. It’ll look more impressive than you setting up your bouts.”

          “Sounds interesting.” Gavin said around a mouthful of food.

Rai's cat-ears twitched noncommittally. So, Wade kept pitch strategies for a while.

          I lost track of the conversation, as I tried to puzzle out why the fencing instructor was expressing an interest in stepping into the pits of d’Argent himself. Since Tegan and Gavin had made it clear that the fighters set the rules for their bouts, I was sure that Iron Wade could find someone willing to let him use his saber. On the other hand, I agreed with the "get someone else to do the dangerous part" approach. Either way, it was heartening to see that another of my commune had started to think more than one action ahead, as well as incorporating contingencies into that imagined future.

 

Raion-ju and Tegan Bramblerose led the six of us to Ariadne's. Amaryllis had been pouty and fretful about everyone leaving, until I insisted, 'If something really does go wrong, then release the guy in the pod. And make him redeem himself."

          Our trip through the dark Briar woodland was dominated with an all encompassing chittering sound, like millions of crickets trying to shout down twice as many locusts. Other than a couple of periods of near deafness, the journey was fine.

          Once back at the Briar-side lounging garden, our two pathfinder-guides both volunteered/agreed to stay at, or near, Sheaves & Leaves for the day, just in case any of us needed to get back to our haven in a hurry. My impression was that the compassionate Miss Bramblerose was also worried about leaving Amy without effective assistance. So, voluptuous Tegan would most likely step into the Thorny Edge, from time to time, in case the curvaceous dryad sent out a root-based distress call.

          Still, I recalled how my recent travels would have been less stressful, if I had been able to find my way alone. Plus, none of the problems of the Briar had proven to be nearly as terribly dangerous as the stories I had read. Therefore, I imagined that the authors were employing some artistic license. So, I promised myself that the next time neither Tegan or Rai were available to take me, I would just follow the tingling of my nose, to get back to our oak. If I could do that a couple of times, then I was sure I could become as casual about the Shifting Thorns as the redhead and the panther-lad.

Tegan also mentioned, “While I’m here, I can chat with some of the other changelings. Maybe one of them has heard something about the redcaps.”

Raion-ju had already slunk inside and slumped into a cushioned chair, next to the French-doors.

          The remaining four of us went our own ways, attempting to track down the frat-caps, amongst other personal business. I, of course, returned to the “trustworthy comforts of the public library. Unfortunately, my research into O’Malley’s and the other bars which Gavin had heard about turned up didly-squat by way of frat-cap encounters or possible routines.

          I rubbed my eyes and temples, thinking that Iron Wade may have been right and this sort of thing should have been given to Sean Tallwind. I was doubtful about the spindle-fingered chap’s claim of being a private investigator. However, even if Tallwind was fibbing about his credentials, he still could not have done a worse job than I had. My Mrs. Marple, Hercule Poirot, and Sherlock Holmes training manuals were not really serving me very well.

          Returning empty handed, as it were, to the spirit-touched book and tea distributer, I was in too much of a self recriminatory funk to chat with the cute staff or indulge in the rare literature. Raion-ju stretched out, in the cool grass of the garden, , napping in the sun. So, no solo hiking through the mystic Wilder Woods for me, yet.

          The dark forest had seemed slightly brighter than usual, with more bare branches and crunchy dead-leaves on the ground. Even so, my guide made practically no noise, compared to my every step crackle-rustling through the leaves. The odors of stale dust and a sharp inky tang hung in the breezeless air. Before I knew it, Rai padded into Amy's clearing, before me.

          We came at our mighty oak from a differ angle than usual, so in instead of Sean Tallwind’s colorful enforced “thinking” chamber, I saw white and black banner. It was as if the tree wore a jaunty little cape. “Uh,” I stopped, pointed, and called to Rai, “that’s new.”

          Raion-ju looked over his shoulder at me, as he shrugged it, though he did not stop walking, “It’s the hide. Sean said it was part of the tanning process.”

I nodded and headed in. I knew just enough about curing skins to recognize the need for drying in the sun and open air. I assumed that stretching the hide in the branches had been Tallwind’s last act before getting himself podded.

After a much needed nap—to make up for the far too long days which I had been experiencing—I moved the favorable direction across time-zones. I continued my glamour plus poker education, by selecting a couple more casinos to investigate. In addition to confirming that my method remained viable, I also wanted to determine if any place had ideal, or at least aesthetically superior ‘Hold’em tables.

Along with assessing quantity of poker tables, what stakes were available, noise qualities, and so on, I made note of the number of other spirit-touched in each location. From my reading, Professor Peter Dionysus, and Concierge Theresa, I had had come to understand that fae could be very territorial and petulant. Hence, I did not work my magics at the ‘Bay or Mirage, however I also wanted to avoid stepping on any individual turfs. I did have the unsettling realization, at one point, that my Mlife card effectively tracked my movements. Then concluded that the Masque made all electronic surveillance perceive me as a normal person. It was possible a changeling working for a casino might see me gambling, then access my Mlife records. However, the spirit-touched I had encounter all seemed less than tech savvy. Plus, my moving from casino to casino should look non-threatening to any such territorial scrutiny.

          My previous day's success had provided me with the stakes to be able to step up to the thousand-dollar buy-in tables. So, pre-sunset, I was at New York, New York and after nightfall the MGM Grand. Overall, I was not detecting any significant atmospheric differences from one gambling hall to the other. However, the high-roller Texas Hold’em players at each location proved far harder to rattle, distract, and read, than the smaller antes from the day before. Even so, my persona and glamours paid out in the long run. Technically, Excalibur had been a better haul on percentages, yet the larger wagers at MGM and New York meant that I was walking away with as much money as I had made in the last two-years of my mortal life.

          Pretty concierge ladies also approached me at both casinos and I collected more comps—buy-2-nights-get-1-free room at New York, New York, one straight-up free night at MGM, and two passes for a day at MGM’s Ultra-pool. The chichi swimming-pool/nightclub sounded way more appealing than a jousting show, yet I doubted I could fit in at the fancy European-style swimming-lounge. I was also turn about the free rooms, as staying in Sin City rather than busing and hiking through the desert sounded very nice. On the other hand the Ultra-pool passes alone were worth a hundred-bucks and the hotel rooms more, so I could probably sell them and pad my nest-egg that much more. If nothing else, the money could compensate me for the extra expenditures of the gratuities which I had been giving away to dealers and cocktail waitresses.

I whistled and hummed with the giddily as I made my way once more to Mandalay Bay’s Shark Reef Aquarium. As conflicted as I was about my free-bees, I did not need to make any decisions any time soon. Plus, I did not have a shift at Elements to hurry back to, for a couple of days. Heck, if my poker winnings remained constant, I probably would not bother bartending much longer, period. I even indulged in fantasies of my many upcoming material purchases.

          At the Aquarium, there was a cashier who I had not seen before, when I purchased my new guest-pass to the Golden Duchy, “Pashmi” according to her name tag. Pashmi of plaited midnight-blue hair, coppery-red skin, and tattoos of gold on her hands. The exotic beauty stood around five-foot tall, maybe five-one, with almond shaped eyes, round nose, and plush lips.

          I fumbled my way through an attempt to barter with the distractingly sexy ticket-seller, to take my complimentary Ultra-pool vouchers, in lieu of payment for a three-month pass to Duchy d’Or.

          "I'd be happy to go," Pashmi smiled slightly crooked teeth, "but that doesn't pay for your pass."

          Gambling must have relaxed me, or maybe my last Fortune’s Favor was still working. I never imagined that my awkwardness could have been misinterpreted as a pick-up line, nor would me nerves normally allow me to hit-on someone so attractive. However, for some reason, I barely hesitated, "So, uh, when's your, um, day off?"

          "Today is _usually_ my day off." She lowered her large dark eyes and pouted mildly disappointed.

          I fretted the tickets would expire before this lovely lady would be available. Then I resolved to just buy more tickets if I had to.

          "So," Pashmi continued in a voice free of accent, yet full of velvety warmth, "I have tomorrow and Wednesday off this week."

          I beamed as the _thrum-zing_ sensation tingled through my body. I could get addicted to making deals of this nature. As I made arrangements to meet the alluring lass the following morning, I remembered that the pool tickets specified "fashionable swimwear". My amber-eyes widened in involuntary panic as I realized that I had no idea what “fashionable swimwear” was, nor do I have any swimwear in the first place. I bit my lip and decided to go for full disclosure… well, closer to full, than empty disclosure. I certainly filly expected my naïveté to sink the deal at every moment.

"So, ah, the thing is, uh, I'm not clear on what, um, counts as fashionable swimwear these days." I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to stop the embarrassed flush that I felt creping up my neck. "Would you, uh, mind helping me, um like, shop for some, ah, before heading to the pool?"

          Pashmi's eyes, irises of slowly churning dark purples and greys, smiled and I could tell that it was causing her some effort to keep her other features neutral. "Absolutely, we can swing by the mall."

          I blinked, "The mall? Not, um, the stores at Mandalay Place?"

          "No," Glossy blue-black braids shimmered with a head shake. "The boutiques are all way overpriced."

          The binding _twinge-tug_ of the deal wove itself, as if wind and whispers, into the earlier sensation of our promised meeting and settled into my chest, like harp strings still vibrating. The overall sensation was the most invigorating of any that I had yet experienced, though it may have been heavily influenced by my hormonal anticipations. On the other hand, it was also the first time that I also felt some regret. I would have preferred that our date had no Gyr backed mystical compulsion for Pashmi to fulfill the arrangement.

          Then again, the exotic ticket seller was not directing me to the in house stores, so probably was not getting kick-backs from the casino. Which lent some credence to the idea that Pashmi was actually interested in me, or at least the Ultra-Pool experience. It was almost enough to make me think that my faery luck may not be in effect. Theoretically, my elfin looks helped, as well, although it was hard for me to adopt that in place of my gawky mortal self-image.

          Getting to take Pashmi to Ultra-Pool completely took the disappointment out of not being able to trade those tickets for the long-term guest pass. I barely even noticed the hundred-and-fifty bucks leaving my care, as I received my new Duchy of Gold ninety-day lanyard. Besides the expense and time commitment was worth it. With my gambling, I was sure to be visiting the spirit-touched lounging areas often. Even more so, if my date with Pashmi somehow went well.

 

In the caverns of the Pleasure Gardens, I found a fae cashier, who converted some of my US currency into spirit-touched tender. I selected gold coins of one-hundred dollar values, artfully worked into a substantial leather cuff-bracelet—with a little manipulation any one coin could be removed for use as money. Since the precious metal and leather were as real as any other mundane jewelry, my Masque would not disguise the cuff, any more than the magic altered the appearance of my blue-jeans. So, I would have to start watching out for potential pickpockets. A precaution which I was willing to adopt, so that the clearly valuable jewelry might help convince people that I was wearing low-end Old Navy attire as an ironic statement; an asinine concept, however I was willing to try and make it work in my favor.

          I considered again cashing in my free room at the MGM Grand. Doing so would guaranty that I arrived for my date on time. On the other hand, I had a list of things to do in Athens. More importantly, had reached the limits of my ability to indulge myself. I needed to get home and experience some grounding sensations.

          I spent the bus ride out to Red Rock Canyon outlining new goals, based on my last couple of days. I spent a lot of ink on contingencies and counter-contingencies to safeguard my wealth and establish caches against being recaptured by the Folk or lost in the Briar.

          Hiking through the clear star-lit desert my concentration kept slipping. Although, I did smile at myself, walking through the frigid desert night in nothing but a pair of khakis, polo shirt, and boots, protected by a magic born of spitting out match. However, Even with my faery-luminance, it was hard to identify any of the landmarks which I had originally noted, for finding my way back to the boulder-portal. Plus, something about the twinkly sky irritated me. So, I found myself muttering under my breath, as I would pause to reorient. “Alright, Tommy, which way. Just think about the oak…”

          Even though my Lumor-light did not help find my destination, I still kept it bright, lest I lose my footing on some rock or hole. At least, the note taking had mostly settled my monetary agitations--mostly. “I’m doing better than I expected, that’s all. No reason to believe it means a failure’s coming.” Stop again, to spin in a slow arc, “Not your nose.” I smacked my forehead, then rubbed my nose. “Thinking about the nose just makes it itch.”

          On the other hand, what sort of impression will it make to show up to a pool date in the same a dusty-ass pair of Doc Martens. I shrugged, “She saw how I dressed, right? So, she already knows what to expect…” I glared upward, without exactly knowing why. “Besides, she already agreed to help me shop for better clothes.” Sigh, pause, and seek that telltale twitch which pulls me towards the mystical bond with Amaryllis.

“Maybe I should save up for a car in Vegas… Only how much will that cause to keep parked somewhere decent?” More reorientation. What if Pashmi was dangerous, though, like a succubus or something. “I made the deal, there’s no turning back…” Set shoulders. “We’ll just have to stay in public places.” Another slowed step, ”Just trust the tingle, it is distinctive…”

I wonder who I can brag to abut all of this? “No, one,’ a derisive snort, ‘if they’d pay attention at all, none of them understand how cool this all is.” Looked at those dim-flicker stars, “Sneering bastards, none of you’d do any better on foot.” Stop and search again, ”Ah, ha! Here we are.”

          My mild irritation and frustration fell away as I unlocked the boulder and made my way to my attic room. However, my mind continued to race, especially with thought of Pashmi. I tried to keep hold of the healthy possibility of danger from the exotic woman. On the other hand, even though I did not exactly remember the full fourteen years of my abstinent absence from the world, it had still been a very long time. Even just counting my subjective time, Luann had been over a year before going into the clinical trial. So, fell asleep to imaginings of nimble gold-tattooed hands doing things to me, of a more pleasurable dangerous nature.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:


	16. Chapter 16

Feeling, firm, fleshy,

Needing, nuzzling, kneading,

Groping, grasping, gasp…

 

Day 15: Tuesday, November 22nd

I lay, sweaty, in my snug bed of oak and down. The grey-blue-pink pre-sunrise light crept along the polished golden-brown wall and ceiling of my room. Un-images and near sensations of my dream bubbled elusive away from my desperately grasping mind. I almost felt as if I had willed my dreams into the sensual carnality whish was so rapidly fading from thoughts to an unfulfilled yearning. It was no use, however, my bladder would not let me return to slumber.

          I did sigh with some contentment, though. As I gathered up clean clothes, for after my shower, I realized that it was Tuesday and specifically the first Tuesday morning, since my escape from the Lands Beyond, in which I had not experienced some nightmarish dreamembering. I would still have preferred that the dream I had experienced to be retained with even a fraction of the clarity of a dreamembering, of course. Even so, moved with relieved lightness, as if I had slipped on the edge of a chasm, yet had caught myself and moved away safely.

          As another consolation for having to leave my dream, I was up early enough to not have to wait in line, for the haven’s full-bath. Not that later bathing had the same difficulties as our mundane house. I had idea how Amaryllis, managed hot and cold running water, yet we had it from ceramic taps and spouts in the kitchen, full-bath, half-bath, and the whirlpool hot-tub in the basement/trunk. Well, okay, I knew it was magic, yet that was still a less than satisfying answer for me.

          I was in a bright enough mood, that I even considered heading down to the old wood-plank water-tower looking whirlpool. It would have been ridiculously indulgent, as the tub was easily big enough for ten of me. However, I needed a proper bath, I had not purchase swim-trunks yet, and the rec-room was a much more public space than the lockable bathroom. Besides I did not a pool-like experience when I would be going to a full-size pool in several hours.

          plus, I really enjoyed the sculptural wonderment of our full bath. Spacious for a bathroom with walls, floors, and ceiling of dark oil-sealed oak. The walls were composed of scores and scores of small shelves and dozens of pegs. Easily two-thirds of the shelves held small candles, each in glass or crystal votives and globes. Some of the shelves, especially around the sink and tub, held small jars and bottles which contained soaps, oils, and powders. Light also streamed in through narrow block-glass windows, high in two of the walls. The commode was mostly wood carved to look like a medieval-fantasy throne, whose padded-leather seat lifted to reveal a porcelain rim around a deep dark hole. The toilet-paper, on a convenient peg, was clearly made of pressed together leaves, yet soft than that sounds.

          The cream-colored enameled sink appears to be without plumbing, as it rests within one large shelf. A frameless polished piece of tin, barely bigger than my face and nearly unique as metal within the haven, serves as a mirror, held in place above the sink by wooden pegs. An array of eight sets of wood-handled toothbrushes, hairbrushes, cups, and other grooming implements rested within easy reach, on the wall. Although, Amy provided no razors or scissors. Eight sets of (possibly hemp) towels and wash cloths were also hung from pegs at appropriate places and were as soft as cotton balls..

          The most aesthetic aspect of the room was the bathing area. A large enameled claw-foot tub, in the same warm cream-color as the sink, rested in an alcove under one strip of windows. A lacquered dividing screen, folded in and out from a small recess, when fully opened it completely encloses the tub with only a few inches clearance at the top. The decorative screen depicted a dark and foreboding forest scenes, if viewed from the sink or toilet, while from the bathtub the imagery was brightly colored glades. There were antique looking ceramic taps, of matching coloration. However, there was no spout or shower-head, instead a few empty shelves protruded and slope out over the tub, there were holes in the wall where they attached. Water would pour through the holes and down the irregular shelves, creating a waterfall effect.

          As much as I enjoyed the artistic chamber, I could not prevent myself from finding some fault. While, Amaryllis never seemed to run out of hot water, it also never seemed to get much hotter than body temperature.

 

At breakfast share-time and war-room, our gang again went through sketching out a plan of attack against the redcaps. Iron Wade the man of Steal favored indirect actions like setting traps, while Gavin Granitbane advocated direct assault, the rest of us voiced opinions which fell on a spectrum between the two. Just like every other time we had the same conversation, we settled on lying in wait and calling the frat-caps into an ambush.

          While I was not able to smile about it, I was in good enough mood, that I was able to let the seemingly endless repetition wash by me. Although, I did wonder if my allies felt as if they were in a constant state f déjà vu. So, it was not surprising the meal-conference resolved with our collective unable to agree upon the how and where to find the ‘caps and determining to individually think about options and revisit the subject. I crossed my fingers and hoped that some new information would present itself, before the redcaps regrouped enough to do something as bad as or worse than they had to Sean Tallwind.

          Flowery scented Tegan Bramblerose spoke up before we went about our day, "I'm concerned about Sol. It's been a couple of days and we have no idea what might have happened to her."

          Gavin tensed his rough red-orange muscles, ready to leap into action and save the distressed damsel of darkness. The rest of us around the table were more thoughtful.

          "I guess," Iron Wade raised his dry voice, while placing his dishes in the kitchen’s ceramic-sink, then moving to the living room, "we could ask around at Sheaves & Leaves… Maybe try and find this Salamander Court place and ask there if anyone knows where to find that Jack guy?"

          "Hmmrrr," Freerunner grumbled speculatively and drank some coffee, as he also settled into a living room chair, "is it urrg ourrrr business? Rrirr I mean, it ghph seemed pretty clearrr that she chose rrr to go."

          "It's just that…" Tegan stood in the double-wide archway, between dining and living area, and fluttered her hands to indicate her frustration. "I mean, I thought we were sticking together as a group, you know…"

          Gavin went over and gave Tegan a one arm reassurance side-hug. And we all generally made noises of agreement. Privately, I realized that Sol was the only other girl in our group, except for Amy, who tended to remain apart from us. If nothing else, Tegan may have just wanted another female around. Although, I felt it was more than just that. So, we attempted to ponder what more could be done for or about Dark Sol’s self imposed predicament. Although, some more than others.

          "So, what’s our worst case scenario?" Wade sat with hash-marked hands steepled at his chin, "If we do find Sol and she’s either dead or recaptured by a Keeper." A heightened tension passed through the room. "If the problem was the former, then finding her does nothing to change what happened. If it’s the latter,” wiry shoulders shrug, ”then we can't realistically help her and would just get caught ourselves, if we tried."

          "Personally," I offered from where I leaned back against a wall, in a sunbeam with my arms crossed in front of me, "I feel like the most relevant point is still that Dark Sol is still a grown-up. An adult that did not indicate she wanted our assistance." I held up my right hand to stop the barrage of victims-may-not-realize-they-need-help-beforehand style arguments that Tegan and Gavin had been favoring, "Sol could have said something to any one of us before leaping away with Spring-Heeled Jack, even if it was just 'see you soon'. But since she did not, that seems to indicate, she was not interested in our input."

          I kept to that I also questioned Dark Sol’s overall motives and reliability. When we had met, at Kendal, Solana was open, pleasant, and seemed caring. Since our changes, Dark Sol had been sulky, cynical, and sinister, more often than not—much more so than any of the rest of us. Plus, the sun-shy lass had been displaying a lot of delight in the morbid. Ultimately, I simply believed that. Sol was choosing to travel dangerous and none of us could stop her, without her expressing the desire for it.

          I also had an inkling that Tegan’s bloomwell aroma had been at play. However, Iron Wade and my ingrained reticence pretty much dissolved that iteration of the discussion. Unless athletic Tegan or gravely-Gavin chose to pursue seeking Dark Sol on their own, I expected to hear it all again the next time that we gathered.

          Something about my concern that Miss Bramblerose was manipulating our intentions, got me worrying about my attachment to Las Vegas. I had started to become far too dependant on Sin City, in too short a period of time. Everything I had learned of faery magic consistently highlighted its unpredictability, so I should not really rely on our portal always being functional. Besides, until I could rid Athens of Fetch-Tom, then I knew that I would be returning. Plus, Vegas made foraging wyrd almost too easy, so might be in dire straights if I was in Athens and needing the mystical energy.

          Which triggered my memory of having researched some potential foraging locations in Athens. A quick check of my notes and I saw that I had centered in on the Athens Community Center, which held rage-a-holic meetings regularly and had a gymnasium set up for training boxers. So, when Iron pestered Raion-ju into leading him back to Ariadne's Freehold, I tagged along.

Thankfully, by then, all of my companions had sunk into their own thoughts far enough to not ask after my interests or try to act as my bodyguard. I wanted to hum with the hopeful thought that my associates might even be personally proactive. My jubilation was tempered, though, with the niggling thought that none of us were taking the ferocious redcap threat as seriously as we should. It was like the old cliché, “You don’t think about fixing the hole in the roof, unless it’s raining. And you can only repair the hole correctly, when it’s nice out.”

          The Briar treated the three of us to a new form of disturbing, as a thunderstorm broke and rolled across the treetops. With the added cloud cover, the dense foliage was dark as night, although did also prevent any precipitation from falling directly on any of us. However, the almost cathedral-like vaulting of the canopy made the sloosh of the driving rain and the crack-boom of the thunder, echo like roars, and the howling wind became any number of terrible sheiks and screams. At least, the rain tapered to a light drizzle, by the time that Rai led us into Ariadne's garden. Better still, Athens was dry as a bone, with just a heavy grey cloud cover.

          I pouted on the way to my Festiva, though. Rosa had been out of sight, somewhere in the kitchen. And Philomena, had been stuck trying to explain the membership pricing structure to a tall man with pine-needles for hair and beard. All I caught, as I passed by, was that the man was arrogantly attempting to barter an hourly rate. So, although disappointed that I had not been able to chat with either cutie, I was thankful to not have the desk-clerk’s job.

 

My luck fluctuated a little, when I arrived at the Athens Community Center, as they opened at 8:00 AM. A paper tacked to the entryway’s corkboard, indicated that the morning anger management meetings, which I had researched on the internet, had all been rescheduled for late afternoons. On the other hand, there was a few boxers-in-training and the coach ascribed to a get-mad-to-get-tough method of teaching. So, my trip was not wasted and I did winnow some wyrd.

          Not wanting to get into a fight with a semi-professional boxer, or get thrown out for being disruptive, I settled for standing near a wall and making faces, at the trainees. Since I was not outright mocking any of the lads, they just found themselves feeling more frustrated than usual for being pitied. The process quickly became an enjoyable game of testing my own subtly.

Meanwhile, I also reviewed my notepad and discovered that I had somehow forgotten my date with Pashmi started at ten in the morning. I barked out an expletive and sped to my car. With the three hour time difference, I had some hope. On my mad drive back to Sheaves & Leaves, I called on Fortunes Favor to increase my odds of getting to Pashmi on time. Raion-ju was still near the garden entrance and showed no reticence to leading me back to the oak, so soon, and even seemed pleased when I asked to run. Checking my phone, as I exited the portal into Red Rock, it was just past 8: Am PST. With a jog-hike, bus travel, and a stop into the nearest casino restroom—for a quick rinse off, at the sink—I made it to Pashmi at 10:09 AM. I had even been able to reduce my pulse-rate , so it seemed like I was just being fashionably late.

          The old internal tug-of-war stormed back to me, en route. One side of my psychological-intellect divide was just interested in the opportunity to socialize with someone new, who might share information without having to be paid. Besides, it was just a first date and a daytime one at that. Pulling my psyche in another direction was the biological- emotional yearning to have a sweaty physical relationship with the incredibly sultry beauty. All the while my innate lack of social skills slicked the ground, making the footing poor on either side. Thankfully, the bus ride had given me the time to recognize that the worst that could happen would be offending someone that I did not know and maybe embarrassing myself a little. Then, I could just avoid Pashmi, if I ever saw her again. So, I resolved to ignore normal timid impulses and take whatever chances arose. Within polite parameters, of course, I did not want a reputation as a sleaze-ball, after all.

          Even though, upon seeing Pashmi, it was difficult not to stand agape and drooling. Like Tegan Bramblerose, Pashmi looked stunning in perfectly simple cloths; in this case, leather sandals, dark blue-jeans, a saffron-colored tank top, and an open silk over-shirt of red and orange stripes which faded together, with a large purse/small duffle over her shoulder. I tried to convince myself that I had recently had to practice acting normal around both Tegan and Amy, so there was no reason that I could not overcome my tongue’s tendency to tie around the smoldering Pashmi.

          My first chance, came up right away and I successfully quashed my timid-frugality, in favor of following Pashmi's suggestion. Rather than walking or busing around, I paid for taxies throughout the day. Definitely something that I would not bother with alone. On a date though, cabs were a great idea, especially in a crappy traffic area like Las Vegas near the Strip. Plus, it meant that Pashmi and I spent a lot of time touching, either rubbing shoulders in the cars, or as I held her hand in or out of the vehicles. All I had to do was keep reminding myself of the thousands of dollars in poker winning to which I had access and that the point of the money was to be able to spend it on nice things.

          At the mall, I had already girded myself against high-end brand retailers, determined to get really nice attire for the remainder of the date, at the very least. Which was somewhat of an overcompensation on my part, as Pashmi had been correct that the mall stores were significantly better priced than the casino boutiques. The petite almond-eyed lass helped me select a swimsuit, shirt, flip-flops, and sunglasses which she claimed looked hip and good on me. Afterwards, I insisted, ‘This is, um, great. I, uh… That is, uh, you really, um, went over and above.” I took a breath and followed through on the next chance. “So, um, I want to, uh, get you a swimsuit, too.”

          “ _Really,_ ” Pashmi’s warm voice had that lilt that woman sometimes used and I never could decipher, “and what kind f swimsuit would that be?” Her dark-purply eyes were smiling again, so I thought I was generally clear of pitfalls.

          “Oh, uh…” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I hadn’t, um, really thought about it. Uh, mostly, uh, just whatever you’d like.”

          Pashmi chuckled and led me to Victories Secret. I got the distinct impression that the coppery-skinned lady was testing my reaction, more than anything else. Thus, making it more of a game for me, which I rose to the challenge and bluffed my way through. I also calculated that I could be getting a two-fold value; my generosity might impress Pashmi and she might also have wanted a more fashionable swimsuit for Ultra-Pool. The latter seemed unlikely, even in light of her job as a ticket seller, however it would have been crass to ask.

          Pashmi did seem pleased with the gift, although coolly so. I had not been exactly expecting giddy squeals of delight and jumps of joy, however the almost calculating smile did seem a bit underwhelming. I did figure out, eventually, that Pashmi was probably assessing whether I was trying to obligate her in some way for future intimacies, or just get her into the lewdest possible bikini. For the former, my actions proved otherwise, for the latter, I made certain that the final purchase was completely the lady's selection.

I just happened to thoroughly approve of the one-hundred dollar bikini’s lewdness level. Plus, the “Which one do you like better.” Mini-fashion show was well worth any amount of mark-up on the flimsy amount of fabric for which I ultimately paid.

 

The two of us arrived at the Ultra-Pool and were shown to our main floor cabana. I considered upgrading to a bungalow, then decided that was a chance which had too much potential for seeming presumptuous, especially added to the bikini purchase. Instead, I settled for endeavoring to ignore my tendency to count pennies in all of the rest of the day's events. I could afford whatever else the aqua-nightclub had to offer, after all. And, thankfully, Pashmi did not seem interested in any of the outrageousness, like _seven_ -hundred dollar bottle service.

          My date and I each availed ourselves of the pool's changing rooms. Ultra-pool was one of Sin City's many "European" style and hipster swimming clubs, so there were plenty of attractive twenty-somethings and quite a few of them were topless women. My cynical assumption was that most, if not all, of the bare breasts belonged to showgirls that worked for the MGM Grand resort and either were relaxing during the day before their evening performances, or were simply paid to hang out at the pool mostly naked to entice horny men to spend money therein. Had I not been there with Pashmi, I would certainly have been one of those drooling idiots, regardless of why the lithe-young topless-women were percent.

          As it was, though, once I saw Pashmi striding towards me, I barely noticed anyone else the rest of the day. The well-toned woman's skin was a rich reddish-brown and Graced by Summerfire with a metallic sheen that caused her to look like burnished copper and most of that exotic skin was visible. Pashmi's shiny-shapely legs swayed her firm hips, half wrapped in an orange and yellow sarong, and causing her fresh-penny bright breasts (barely contained by the electric blue triangles of her new spaghetti strap top) to jiggle slightly—as only natural breasts can. The exotic lady's smoldering amethyst-eyes fixed on me... which is what really did me in.

          We ate amazing sushi and drank a couple of pitchers of margaritas. Up close I could see that my date's skin was even more complex, apparently just below the semi-metallic surface, languid rolling darkness churned, like lazy clouds. Pashmi's satiny black hair, in three wide plaited braids, would reveal its deep-blue nature in the sunlight which streamed in through the skylights. The sultry woman's braids allowed the points of her burnish-ears to be seen, as well as accenting her every curve when viewed from behind or one of the plats would drape forward, over her sloping bosom. Plus, dusky Pashmi wore long dangling golden earrings which drew my questing eyes to the supple copper-red of her slender neck and shoulders. Similarly, the gold tattoos, like elegant fingerless lace-gloves, would catch the light. Especially, whenever raise to full lips for delivering a morsel or to a cheek while laughing.

          The two of us swam and talked. The storm cloud colors of Pashmi's eyes churned slowly, matching the faint smoky echo just below her bright-warm skin. I saw the glow of a white hot furnace behind Pashmi's somewhat crooked teeth, when she spoke, or laughed.

          The seductive woman laughed easily, although only when she was honesty amused. I liked that about Pashmi a lot, even though most of what amused her that day was my earnest naivety and rather boyish attempts at charm. Even as I would find myself once more blushing or tripped up by an over enthusiastic tongue, I hoped that I would grow more suave with practice. For the most part, though, I took the hit to my composure there, so that I could better focus upon my companion conversation, as well as trying to not think about, or stare at, her arousing form, lest I embarrass myself with more physical sort of hard focusing. So, in spite of my earlier resolve, my attention was being tugged in many directions, not the least of which was the tent-like blousiness of my swim-trunks and keeping them deflated. Even though I was not nearly as articulate as I would have preferred, Pashmi laughed and spoke with honest enthusiasm, no hint of mockery, and seemed willing to overlook my occasional lascivious gaze.

          The pair of us spent hours taking in the ambiance, mostly together, occasionally separating for some polite reason or other. Pashmi was simply H-O-T, hot, and she knew it, yet had enough aplomb to be able to disguise that she knew it—comfortable with herself, as well as however others looked at her. I was simultaneously jealous of my date's confidence, placed at ease by it, and astonished to be the one with whom she chose to most interact. Amazingly, as sexy as Pashmi was to start, she was never more so than when I watched from across the room, as she sensually approached two jock guys and deftly got them to fight over her. Then the curvaceous lass strutted away, without a backwards glance—the boys' anger-fuel imagined-victories tucked away for later. Meanwhile, I had to sit with my icy margarita in my lap, in order to reduce the embarrassing blood flow.

          When together, Pashmi and I discussed all manner topics; most of them small and generic, weather, the food, music, and the like. Here and there throughout the gloriously long date, I steered the conversation to living in Las Vegas. “Where’s a safe area to settle?” I was fishing for ideas of where to move my haven's magical portal, without actually saying as much. “What’s driving and parking like in Sin City?”, “Do you like working for d'Or?” And so on. Pashmi’s responses seemed genuine and unguarded. “Vegas is fine, with more variety of distractions than most places.”, “Some neighborhoods are safer than others, especially for spirit-touched. I’m pretty sure that there are a few smaller territorial households throughout the city. The real problem is being able to identify the high risk turfs, controlled by the Broken One barbarians.”, “In general driving’s alright, as long as you can avoid the Strip.”, “Duchy d'Or is a good fit for me.” And so forth.

          Sometimes when I delved for more details I was lucky, like following up on the Golden Duchy, ”I work about forty-hours per week, but that varies depending on what needs to be done.” And “The duchy provides reliable food and secure shelter.” On the other hand, my attempts to learn more about the smaller groups of spirit-touched or Broken One resulted in, “I’m not really sure. I pretty much stay on Red Court property, if not Duchy holdings specifically. So, I don’t know much about that other stuff”

In her turns, my smoky-eyed, smoky-skinned, smoking-hot date asked me about where I was from. “How long _have_ you been out of the Edge?”, “What sort of alliances have you joined?”, and the like. My answers were as honest and reasonably guarded Pashmi had provided.

For instance, when the pretty lady said "And none of you have gone mad, since returning to this world?"

          Firstly, I blinked a little taken aback at the it's-so-common-as-to-be-expected tone of Pashmi's inquiry. "I wouldn't say that. I can't even claim to be wholly sane, considering that I stay with them." I smiled to indicate my partial jest. "On the one hand, we looked out for each other and shared information, from the start. And that seemed to keep us all fairly even-keeled." I shrugged one shoulder. "Then again, we all seem to be driven to actions that probably seem objectively unwise, even as we pursue them. Like the redcaps that we plan to ambush." I sipped lime-green margarita.

          Pashmi's almond eyes somehow snapped into more intense focus and we discussed redcaps for a while. I was surprised and proud, as I figured out that I knew more than my more experienced date regarding the blood-soaked ogre-fiends. I was also pleased to see that Pashmi found the subject of the brutes and my group's plans of retaliation as engrossing as I felt it was. That portion of our talk concluded with Pashmi asking, with a mischievous grin, "You will have to tell me how the fight went… if you survive."

          I found the woman's tone and smile hopeful and encouraging. I had to, once more, forcibly draw my fondling-gaze away from Pashmi's mouth. The choleric woman's lips seemed as inviting as a soft pillow after a hard day and her teeth had a slight asymmetry that seemed to hint of a tongue's playground. Meanwhile, I had just met the seductive coppery-cloudy person and I really had no reason to believe I would be safe with her. There are lots of myths and fairy tales about succubae, sirens, and the like, I did not want to believe that Pashmi was such as them, yet I still knew it would be better to verify before trying for more. Plus, as I said, it was our first date and I really did not want to give the impression that sex was all that I was interested in—even if it was the thing that happened to be at the top of my list at that moment.

          "Absolutely," I agreed, "they don't stand a chance." I winked.

          Even though Pashmi looked almost as young as me, I knew that meant little for spirit-touched. The lady’s relaxed maturity and sophistication convinced me that she was much more experienced than myself. Honestly, for all that I knew Pashmi could have been thousands of years old—I was still not clear on fae mortality. However, since the charming lass did not exhibit any strong anachronisms, I suspected that she was from the 21st Century and maybe only as much as ten years older than I was. At least, Pashmi’s Masque supported that theory.

          There were plenty of reflective surfaces around the aqua-club. Since reflections show fae what mortal’s see, I got a couple of good looks at Pashmi's Masque. Each time, I blanched, hoping that the sexy woman had not done the same. I knew, all too well, that my gangly thirty-four year old mortal appearance was no where near to my sun-kissed elfin-self. Unlike, Pashmi's own mortal façade, which was different from, yet the equal of her fae beauty. Pashmi's Masque showed an olive-skinned woman of Indian decent. The petite West-Asian's ears were not pointed, her hair had no blue sheen, her golden tattoos looked like normal henna dye, and her eyes were dark brown. Although, the fiery humored woman's teeth did seem to sparkle more like heat lightning than any normal a human’s could. Otherwise, the Pashmi in the mirror looked much the a slightly older version of the one who sat before me.

          Hanging out with charming-sensual Pashmi was so easy and relaxed that I did not want it to end. Even the flirting we did had seemed to be without any hidden pressure. Although that did make me even more vigilant against my own mouth-seeking foot. I would rather continue to simply share the company of someone that I felt comfortable around, than risk offending her. As much as I longed for more physical relations in my life, my need for meaningful social interactions was far greater. So, I took another chance, “Hey, uh, Pashmi,” I was watching my hands gather up my belongings, rather than staring at my date bending over to collect hers, “I, um, know that we just agree to, uh, the mall and her...” I took a deep girding breath. “But, I um, was wondering if you’d mind helping me pick out some more, uh, grown up clothes?” I hated how fast my mouth was moving, at least I was able to keep the words from running together. “Since, you, uh, explained the Mlife point system to me, I uh, really wanted to hit some of the affiliated boutique stores. By, um, I don’t wanna buy something that winds up lookin’ stupid…”

          Pashmi had finished gathering her belongings, stepped over to me, and touched my shoulder. I nearly snapped something straightening up as fast as I had, having not realized how engrossed I had become in not staring at the lady. Pashmi just smiled, “Sure, Tommy, your fun to dress up.”

          I exhaled with relief. If Pashmi had not stopped me, I had been about to explain that I also wanted the close so poker players would take me more seriously. Which would have been boring for the Vegas resident to hear. While true, it was already bad enough that I had mentioned the Mlife thing. Then, I had been going to add how much I wanted to dress better around Pashmi herself, as she made me feel so much more worthy and how she should not be seen with a schlub in Old Navy best. Which would simply have been WAY too much on a first date, regardless of length or success.

         I did find that concentration on the Mlife club helpful, though. Pashmi had explained that designated stores and any room reservations generated twenty-five times the normal membership points per dollar. Trying to calculate my ranking in the club, distracted me away from obsessing about how my date looked, sounded, and smelled. Thus, I was able to converse like a decent person, for a little while longer.

          Plus, the shopping focused on gauging aesthetics and picking preferences, so our talking returned to simple and small topics. It was around four o'clock, by the time I decided that I had enough pants, shirts, and what not, to make several outfits. As Pashmi walked beside me with her hand in the crook of my elbow, I took another long-shot chance, "I, um, I need to do some gambling now. Would you, uh, be interested in, uh, tagging along?"

          Not surprisingly Pashmi smiled politely, "Ah, no. Standing around for hours, watching people play cards or dice or whatever, is not fun for me."

          I sensed no admonishment or judgment, Pashmi just seemed to treat my comment like I was an accountant and had asked her if she wanted to hang-out in my office while I crunched numbers.

          The two of us had made our way onto the pavement, in front Mandalay Bay, as our date came to an unavoidable close. I stood there holding my boutique bags, full of swag, and felt as if I loomed over the coppery sprite of a woman—it would take some serious heels for Pashmi to reached 5'2". Before parting, though, I screwed up enough courage for one more risky chance. I bent down to take my shot… Pashmi's kiss tasted like chai and she smiled knowingly, when I walked (practically floated) away.

          Since I was there already and fairly addled from my extraordinary day, I started with playing at thousand-dollar 'Hold'em table in Mandalay Bay. It resulted in a wash monetarily. Which was just as well, since I should not have been gambling on Golden Duchy turf. So, the same distracting exotic spice flavors which kept me from finding a more suitable venue, also prevented me from playing to my magic enhanced potential. That dine, I did still receive two complimentary tickets to see Santana at the House of Blues. Great bargaining fodder, unless Pashmi wanted to see the legendary musician, that is.

          Hoping to clear my head, I changed scenery to Balley's, got a meal, and winnowed a little more wyrd. Then, I found another one-grand buy-in table and was back in the groove. My cash winnings were very nice, easily making up for what I had spent earlier in the day. Honestly, in just a couple of days, I had made more money than I had earned the last time that I had filed taxes. I was also comped two seats for Carrot Top's show, which were unquestionably for trade—I did not even care if Pashmi was interested in going.

 

I am not sure if I had even been so pleased with a day, or myself, by the time I returned to our oak haven. Neither dour Mr. Man O'Steal’s raised weathered-eyebrows at my new attire, nor Tegan's sparkling-green knowing-look at my grinning face and buoyant body language, were able to muddle my mood with self-consciousness.

In addition to buying clothes that fit well, felt great, and looked fabulous, I had made a lot of money, ate some amazing food, and spent the day with a gorgeous woman that seemed to actually like my company, as much as I did hers. I even remembered to tip all the people who served me and barely resented doing so. I could not stop smiling as I hung my close, starting to fill in my otherwise empty oak-wardrobe. I even got to sleep once more in the wonderful dryad-made bed. Life was good.

 

         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:


	17. Chapter 17

_Twilight Tommy flies, soars, swoops until the houses below are toys and the clouds wrap around Tommy like a cloak. The sun can no longer outshine Tommy dancing in between night and day as lazy as a firefly. Tommy's a brand new boy, as sweet as a berry on the vine, Aeolian said. How proud Tommy is, how fine! Tommy would crow about it, but only Aeolian may crow, just as only Aeolian can wear a fine feather in his cap, or dance on Thursdays, or kiss the mermaids…. So many rules to know, so hard to remember them all…._

_Falling. Blackness. Shock._

_Tommy's back is up against the cold stone and edges slowly sideways on a narrow ledge no wider than edging feet. It spirals round the mountain. As Tommy looks down, the sheer rock falls away to clouds, and below even further are tiny white-capped waves of a cold, unquiet sea. Tommy knows that there is no cave, no doorway into the hollow mountain, nothing that can be reached by foot. Moving is warmer than staying still, so slowly Tommy edges along hoping for a niche with less wind._

_Tommy sees the Other Boy—no name shared, secret or otherwise, and the Master calls all of the boys Boy—floats between the mountains with bright hair of all the colors which hangs around like fog, greenish skin too selfish to feel the cold. The Other Boy has an orange in hand; it seems to glow in this grey place like a tiny sunset. Tommy has eaten nothing since leaving the world, drunk only dew. Tommy can smell the orange as the Other Boy tears it in half, while sitting on the open air. The Boy licks a drop and makes a face, then drops the fruit down, down to the ocean below._

_Tommy feels horror at this waste, and hatred springs where the heart belongs, burning hot for the Other Boy who grins and swoops away. The heat Tommy feels is the anger in blood and it reminds Tommy of hot sidewalks under feet and bark under hands. Tommy remembers the feeling of being wild and free in the summertime; no one could catch Tommy, no one could find Tommy._

_Tommy swears by Summerfire and by hand and by heart._

_Tommy smells fresh mown grass and feels like it could be possible to twist the mountain around in a grasp and shake it until those within tumbled into the sea. The cold stone crumbles at Tommy's strike and warm firelight and song greet him through the hole in the mountain._

Day 16: Wednesday, November 23rd

The smell of hot pavement and cut grass seemed to cling to my bed sheets. If the Briar had clocks, then they must have shown 3:00 AM. I bit my pillow, to keep from screaming my rage at the dreamembered thief, to hold back the furious sense of betrayal that the haven was not safe from such Dreamland missives, and to plug the flow of bitter tears. I had allowed myself to be happy and clearly that could not stand.

          Even afraid of returning to the horrible grinning Boy’s face, part of me still wanted return to sleep, for the chance that a new dream or nightmare would scrub away the last one. My body tossed and turned, as much as my mind. Hours must have passed, while the frustration and unfairness of my vision ground against feeling of need and loss. The dreamembering was not even completely cruel, the mountain rending moment of rage shook free threads of secret which had been hidden by shadowy amnesia. Another of Summerfire’s glamours coalesced in my head. Plus, bursting through that twisting mountain was the way out of my captivity, the memory should be pure elation. Instead, the other hardships entangled and dulled whatever triumph there had been.

          Especially, the petty selfishness of the rainbow-headed boy. I could not shake the suspicion that the boy had followed me out. It was infuriating. On the one hand, I did not want anyone to be subjugated by any of the Folk, on the other I despised that I had to free myself, while that arrogant, lazy grass-stained larcenous boy probably just slipped out in my wake.

          I gave in to my predicament and thrust out of bed. Then, I stalked into the haven’s one room large enough for a proper pace to better fuming pacing. Of course, I lived with others, so was denied the simple desire to stomp frantically back and forth, uninterrupted.

          In fact, I was the one busting in on them. All of my housemates were already sprawled about our living room, except for Amaryllis. It was quickly revealed that everyone had experienced dreamemberings, which left most of them in varying degrees of pique, similar to my own. The irksome expectations were Iron Wade the Man of Steal, who acted smugly nonplused, and Tegan Bramblerose.

          All that the bright viridescent-eyed, flush freckled-cheeked, wide smiling lass would say was, "My dream was great! I remembered the manner and victory of escaping the Master of…" She caught her before uttering the potential summoning, “Well, the one that had kept me, at any rate.”

          The elated counter point, only darkened my foul mood further. That Tegan had apparently freed herself, while I may somehow owe gratitude to the orange thief, rankled all the more. On top of everything else, Athletic Ms. Bramblerose had been so thrilled that she had leapt from bed and run around the oak's clearing several times. So, not only was the lithe redhead jubilant in the face of my gloom, her alabaster skin glistened with perspiration, causing her extra-large mint-green sleeping t-shirt to cling to her otherwise nude, full rounded breasts, hips, and thighs. So, my frustration only multiplied along impotent lines of yearning. Additionally, the bloomwells hypnotic aura filled the room and made me want to be happy for her happiness. My rage was too intense to allow me even that false repressive, though.

          Empty platitudes were bandied about in attempts to placate those of us that were not pleased with our dream-lots. With that not working fast enough for Tegan’s liking, the topic was changed. The hope was clearly to get us all to stop brooding over our dreamemberings by having us think of something more tangible. It irritated me that the ploy worked, almost as much as the new subject matter itself. It was the tiresomely familiar topic of redcaps and it took close to an hour to have all the same arguments and come to the same call-‘em-out-and-ambush-‘em solution.

          One or the other of our party would step away in turns to shower, dress, and rejoin the discussion. Doubling frustrating, first because such actions only exacerbated the need for repetition. Then, because the discussion had become so second nature that all of us were treating it like ambiance. My mind boggled at the others inability to recognize these facts, even as the conversation churned on over our breakfast of cold cereal.

          All the while, shapely Amaryllis remained more quite than usual. Even when setting out the bowls of homemade granola and pitchers of nut-milk, the dryad said nothing and kept a neutral expression. The more reasonable aspects of y mind advocating asking Amy for her input, however the rest of me was in charge and too petulant to care.

 

Inevitably, the day had to truly get underway and as the six of us exited the oak via its curling stairs, Freerunner’s gargle voice yelpedin surprise, “Hey rrr! What happened rrurr to Sean?!”

          Sure enough, Sean Tallwind’s punishment pod was hanging oddly. When we went over, it was clear that the once plump leafy sack, was limp and empty. The giant oak-leaves had turned brown and were burst, as if a large clawed beast had dug its way free from the inside.

          “Uh, hey Amy,” Gavin Granitbane called to the tree, “do you know where Sean is?”

          The oak’s rough surface bulged and smooth a story or so up the trunk and Amy’s cross-armed torso half-emerged as a living bas-relief. “He let himself out… brutally.” The word was flat, more disapproving than accusatory. “I was right when all the rest of you were getting up and complaining.”

          “But...” Tegan looked around, “I didn’t see him when I came out and ran my laps.”

          “Well,” Amaryllis sighed, “by the time you made it down from your room, the wrinkly-one had limped off into the Wilder Woods. And you weren’t really paying much attention at the time.”

          Amy incongruous, less than peppy demeanor, penetrated even my thickest ally’s skull. So, no further questions were put to the moody tree-spirit and she faded once more into the oak.

          Then blessedly, no babbling discussion ensued. Possibly Amaryllis’s attitude had thrown my colleagues into a mild shock. More likely, I suspected, that the issue would be treated as so many others which had arose and would arbitrarily rise to the top of everyone’s “to do” list in a day or two. I sighed with anticipatory weariness, as it would be the Dark Sol argument all over again. Sean was a grown adult who chose to wonder off, rather than enter the haven. Unlike Sol, though, the grumpy needle-fingered jerk must have physically hurt Amy as he tore through the pod. So, not only did I not blame Amaryllis for her attitude, my blood also boiled a little more, on her behalf.

          So, I found myself skipping from one bothersome set of mental images to another, as the six of us hiked into Athens. Understandably, my cohort all remained quite around my central position in the party, while I stomped and fumed my way along. Prowling Raion-ju and spring-stepped Ms. Bramblerose led us, as usual.

          Also, as usual, the only constant from the overgrown Briar was its perpetual shadowiness. The air remained chill enough to make breath visible and was filled with the strongest winds I had yet experienced amongst the those trees. Yet, sounds of rustles, scrapes, snaps, creeks were easily heard. The smells of cider and burning leaves was strong and grew almost cloyingly so.

Then, our troupe came upon a much larger procession of spirit-touched travelers, on a wide almost road-like path.

"Huh, that's interesting." Tegan paused and pointed whence the much larger group had come. "This Way starts at Ariadne's, I'm sure of it."

          "Well, rrr that lady urmph looks like rrugh a queen." Freerunner pointed a furry finger at a lady on horseback, near the lead of the possession. "Rrrarr So, I'm urgh guessing theiriririr the local court, rrr we heard rrurm about."

          The woman that 'Runner had identified as the Queen seemed to be made of shiny-bronze liquid-metal and wore an elaborate crown of delicate clear crystal which cut the dim illumination into a rainbow ribbon halo. Many, many others traveled with the regal Lady. Some of the courtiers, members of my band recognized as fellow guests at Sheaves & Leaves. I noted the wet grey lady, from when I first met the Head Archivist Alistair Tomes. Tegan claimed to have seen the tall woman in red, who walk beside the Queen, easily as regal and with a perpetual swirl of autumn leaves in her wake. Wade pointed to Peter Dionysus.

There was also travelers whom I had assumed were full members of Ariadne's Freehold, rather than the Hawk Wood Court of the Midwestern territories. I picked out the goat-ish Prof. Peter Dionysus fairly near to the head of the procession. There was also the blue-skinned ibex-horned fellow, who I had sidestepped early on. Alistair strode to the middle of the procession, wearing his fancy silver-buttoned frock-coat, with his shirt collar and cuffs open to display his inky black tattoos.

          My colleagues huddled in the underbrush and quietly debated whether to join the procession, follow it secretly, or ignore it and continue with our original intent. I could only roll my eyes, knowing full well that this was the distraction for which my party had been hoping, possibly subconsciously. Either way, wanting an excuse not to track down the frat-caps was the only really reason to have dragged our feet for so long. So, there was no way that we would not be tagging along down the unknown path.

Meanwhile the procession had continued and the tail end of it was passing our position. A gamboling, orange fellow with yellow and black face-paint chevrons, and wearing a leather shorts vest, and boots, came over to our stunned little group. The lads jovial demeanor easily won over my allies, while it rubbed my continued bad temper the wrong way—not that a bad temper has a right way to be rubbed.

          The pumpkin-colored man—even his wild hair was just a darker shade of orange—asked in a convivial tone, "Are you all coming to the Barrow Mound." As if everyone knew about the place.

          Images of a mass grave sites seemed to give my fellows pause.

          "Um, maybe," Iron Wade scratched his leathery cheek with one hand of pale scars and looked around, "what's going on at the Barrow Mound, exactly?"

          The orange fellow rolled his forest-green crystalline eyes and shook his head, "You haven't heard?" He said with enthusiastic incredulity. "There is to be an announcement!"

          Which was all it took for my allies to once more abandon all pretenses of redcap investigations. Redcaps, schmedcaps, this wiggling unknown-worm dangled right in front of us and required no effort, so my compatriots took the bait. Even I went along, since the redcaps had waited this long another few hours, or a day, was not going to change anything for me. Plus, I had the impression that the whole spirit-touched community rarely gathered like this, so the announcement was likely to be something that I would want to have heard first hand.

          Raion-ju must have come to other conclusions, because he stalked off in the direction in which Tegan had claimed Ariadne's to be. Not that the stoic panther-lad shared his reasoning with any of us. I certainly doubted that Rai was going to start research redcap haunts, as he had done piss all for that effort thus far.

          Our five remaining housemates fell in step with the orange fellow and the rest of the parade. The leather-clad lad was shorter than average, although not truly oompa-loompa small, with hair which shot out sideways, almost to his shoulder width. The jagged patterns of his face paint evoked images of war-paint, as well as jack-o-lanterns. Lean and muscular. Other, the fellow also wore bow and quiver strapped to his back.

          Wade and the always chatty Gavin Granitbane took the initiative to start introductions. Tegan and Freerunner joined in.

          Pumpkin-man bowed, while walking, "You may call me Lor."

          "And that," Tegan pointed a perfect thumb at me, "is our ill-tempered friend Twilight Tommy." She introduced with an apologetic tone and amused twinkle in her emerald eyes.

          I was stilling looking sour and standoffish. Plus, sarcastic grunts had escaped my control. Needless to say, I was not about to admit the bloomwell’s accuracy, nor even give her the satisfaction of acknowledging the jibe.

          "So, what’s the announcement anyway, Lor?" Iron Wade probed dryly, from beside the spray-tan-gone-wrong chap.

          Lor shrugged "Some big deal or other. I've heard that it might have to do with the whereabouts of Queen Jesse Frost's nephew. Supposedly, he's been kidnapped."

          We all winced. After having been stolen away and tortured into a new state of being, pretty much all spirit-touched were especially sensitive to any kidnappings.

          "She's the bronze lady on the horse, up there?" Gavin asked pointing with his rough cut boulder of a hand.

          Lor's leaf-green eyes widened in surprised for a split second, before he started laughing. After a moment the knee slapping died down and Lor shook his head. "No, that's Queen Glass, our Queen of Autumn.” His tone was just proprietarily proud enough to verify his own melancholic humor. “That's former King-Queen Frost," a gesture ahead of us, "of Winter’s people. The pale… _Lady_ … on the pale horse." 'Lady' had been said with a fair amount of uncertainty.

          While pretty, Jesse Frost was also quite androgynous. She/he was wiry with sparkly, white skin, as of sun on fresh snow. His/Her hair was long, wild curls, and coal-black. King-Queen Frost wore a dress of latex in palest icy-blue. I could not avoid thinking about my parent's photo albums from the '70s and glam-rock musicians. The former monarch’s steed seemed to be made of sharp edged frosted crystal. Which made me nervous about what that said of haughty Jesse Frost, as s/he rode bareback with no apparent discomfort.

          "I've whee also heard," a squat fellow, covered in long porcupine quills, waddled near by and had an odd wheezing manner, "that thehee visiting dignitary hhee was going to wwee say something."

          "Visiting dignitary?" weatherworn Wade rasped bluntly. "Who and from where?"

          "Apparently she was a bigwig from on of the east-coast courts,” Lor supplied but I heard that now she travels from court to court, advising. Her name’s Red… something… Oh you know, Red, it's a kind of bird" he held his orange wrists together and flapped his orange fingers.

          "Robin?" I snapped.

          "No." Lor said.

          "Cardinal?" I tried again in frustration.

          "No, no," Lor shook his squash-head, "the bird's not red. Red is just part of her name."

          "Eagle?… Jay?… Cuckoo?…" I paused after each, allowing Lor time to dismiss them, "Sparrow… Finch?… Pelican?..." this was not helping my mood.

          "Wow," Lor said a little stunned, "You know a lot of birds. But it's one of the flightless ones."

          ""Kiwi…" I barely let him finish. "Ostrich… Penguin… Rhea..."

          "That's it," Lor touched his nose with one index finger and pointed to me with the other, "Red Rhea. Well done." He beamed a little, his teeth were paler orange like the flesh of a pumpkin.

          After a moment when it did not seem that Lor would continue, I said through clenched teeth, "And what might Red Rhea have to say?"

          Dark green crystals blinked at me nonplused, "You really are an angry fellow, aren't you?" He continued before I could scream. "Red Rhea, might have some political missive, like an alliance proposal.”

“Or,” a tall slender lady, with black feather for hair, dreamy avian eyes, and seemed to be drifting along n the crowd, offered, “I also heard, that she might have something to say in regards of the missing mortal children."

          Tegan was especially interested in that. I vaguely recalled the former ROTC student having mentioned seeing articles about the high rate of missing kids in the greater Athens area. The information was laced into one of the many endless discussions about our redcap menace, so I was not really paying attention at the time.

          Plus, I could not imagine how to even start helping such a large group of missing mortals. Even so, Tegan asked several unanswerable question, clearly hoping to find a way to help. In my gloom, I considered that this Salamander Court may have been behind the abductions and Red Rhea would just be making a successful progress report.

          Other changelings, walking near us joined the speculating. No one had anything more solid than hearsay and rumors to go on, yet that seemed irrelevant to the group as a while. In addition to what we had heard to start with, the favored theories included, “Rhea’s the one that kidnapped Queen Jesse’s nephew, for leverage, to get that Frost to fall in line with the Autumn King and Queen.”, “Red Rhea is an exceptional scholar, so the announcement is going to be some boring history lesson.”, “She was a queen in the East, but had performed unforgivable rituals and glamours, which resulted in her banishment.”, “Not rituals, she was a puppet for the Keepers.”, and “Not a puppet, Redhorn and Glass shouldn’t cotton it, Rhea did ally with the Rampant Unbound of the east, though.” The longer the conversation went, the more gossipy and titillating each new claim sounded.

          I did ask about the Rampant Unbound and was told that was a northern expression for Broken Ones. Apparently, ‘unbound’ specifically alluded to being unbound from the ancient pacts, such as the Masque. Resulting in a tangent while my male colleagues had to be re-informed of what Broken Ones meant. Luckily, Tegan had remembered as well as I what she had learned of vampires and werewolves and the like, a few days earlier, so I did not need to raise my blood pressure any further, with the recap.

          “Yeah,” Lor add, “and the east is over populated with the Broken and hardly any changelings. So, those courts are small and relatively isolated.”

          Then apropos of nothing and in one deft motion, Lor drew an arrow from his quiver and stabbed the air behind Tegan’s tapered left-ear. The orange aboriginal’s arrow came back into view with a fish on it. Like an overgrown, semi-translucent, yellow and pink striped, angelfish with impossibly large fins. The gossamer fins floated independent of the breeze, even though the fish was clearly dead.

          Tegan’s eyes had become circles.

          "These are real tasty if you can get 'em." Lor said as he tore off one long gossamer fin and sucked it down.

          "But what is it?! What was it doing?!" I snapped, also wide eyed, somewhat concerned that it had been beneficial.

          "It's a niggler." Lor shrugged and told me matter-of-factly. "You have three nibbling at your thoughts right now." He shrugged again. "That's what they do, eat at your unguarded thoughts."

          I felt my face purse with horror and suspicion. I could not tell if the under-dress orange lad was pranking me, for having been rude. So, sought a second opinion and I caught up to Alistair, in the middle of the pack.

I got a good look at the bibliophile's tattoos and I felt my luck was with me again. Mr. Tome’s ink looked like Nordic runes and, from what little I knew, they referred to knowledge retention. So, I assumed the fastidious archivist was warded against invisible thought-eaters and could help me get rid of mine—if I actually had any.

          falling in step beside Alistair, I mimicked his pace for a little while. The light mockery helped to improve my mood slightly. However, I did not keep it up, as I knew that irritating the papery-skinned fellow, just before asking for help, was a loosing strategy.

          "So, Alistair," I opened with, when he glanced over, "what do you know about sometimes-invisible thought-eating fish?"

          The overly groomed lad’s indigo-eyes narrowed. " _Why_?" He drew out the word trepidatiously.

          I shrugged, attempting nonchalant. "Someone was trying to convince me that I had some."

          Alistair's eyes widened and he took a step away from me. The parchment-skinned man might have gone further, however we were fairly close to other walkers. "What?! A few?! You brought them here?!" he waved his hand around his head as if swatting at flies.

          "I didn't know until a minute ago!" I snapped feeling hurt. Partially by Alistair's recoiled. Partially because the man clearly could not see the flying inviso-fish, so probably could not help rid me of them. "And the guy might have been playing me."

          The Head Archivist calmed down a bit.

          "If I did have these nibblers…" I tried to get aid anyway.

          "Nigglers." Alistair corrected reflexively.

          I took a breath and let it out. "If I do have a case of nigglers, how bad is it?"

          Mr. Tomes then asked me several trivia questions in rapid succession, like a simple SAT. The precise chap seemed satisfied with my responses. After that Alistair said, "Well, you've probably just had a hard time keeping track of short term things. Like 'where did I put that pen I just had' and so forth."

          It was the primary reason that I had started my constant note taking. I groaned in recognition. Heck, it was that thing which Tegan had to remind us about earlier… what was it again?... Crap! I really did have nigglers. All my annoyance was redirected to the vile aeronautic-fish. "How can I get rid of them?" I asked, trying hard not to plead.

          "Get a hunter to kill them." Alistair made a riffle sound when he shrugged.

          I felt a weight in my gut. I had obviously just met a hunter and, most likely, offended him for no good reason. So, Lor was not likely to kill my fish just because I asked. Then, the weight buoyed a little, as I remembered that I had bargaining supplies, fresh from Vegas. Lor did not need to know that my complimentary tickets were only good in Sic City, until after the fish were dead.

          I fell back to where Lor was, in the procession, and chose a polite moment to address him, "Uh, Lor?" I tried hard to sound repentant. "I would like you to, um, kill my thou… nigglers. I can offer you a pair of tickets to a show, in exchange."

          "What show?" Asked Lor.

          "Well there's a jou…" I caught and corrected myself. Based on the hunter’s attire, I had thought to offer him the Excalibur dinner and joust. Then I realized that Lor’s wild orange-hair had been less curly and more of a color found in nature, yet it was still done in the same style as the comedian's. "Uh, Carrot Top? I would give you two tickets to see Carrot Top."

          Lor's face lit with excited interest, then quickly narrowed and one orange eyebrow raised. "He's coming to town?"

          "Tommy's been spending a lot of time in Las Vegas." Iron Wade decided to help me.

I hoped Lor could not see the ire in my face. I strongly considered renaming the loud mouth, Iron Wade the Man of a Steel-Head.

          Lor voice got real excited. "You have a way to get to Vegas?!"

          I kicked Wade as hard as I could in the shin, I only achieved a glancing blow, though. Even so, the haggard fencing instructor turned grease-monkey seemed to put together that announcing our haven’s magic portal, to every spirit-touched within earshot, was not the safest idea. "Well, we have this taxi." His steel-grey eye-line settled on Freerunner.

          "You drive in the Briar?" Lor was very incredulous. "Can you drive in the Briar? It’s not a mortal taxi, is it?"

          "Runner's beady eyes, full of panic, darted between Wade and Lor. The hirsute man's long whiskers and tufty round ears twitched.

          "No, no," Iron Wade raised his hash-marked hands defensively and verbally back pedaled some more, "we just drive. It takes a few days."

          "Look," I snapped my fingers to draw attention and tried to regain control of my transaction and my flaring temper, "the tickets are for Balley's in Las Vegas. They are valid for Carrot Top's show. You kill all my fish and I will give you both tickets, okay?"

          I saw Freerunner in the corner of my eye. The sleekly muscled man relaxed, then dropped back to a deferent part of the procession. I purposely avoided looking at Wade at all.

          Lor considered a moment. "These are real tickets, not just some leaves you glamoured?"

          I could tell the conversation around us threatened to distract the transaction again. I cut to the chase, "By my heart and hand." I touched my palm to my chest and then held it up for Lor to see. "The tickets are real and redeemable."

          "Alright." Lor said and held out his hand for the tickets.

          _Tug-thwang_ quickly and satisfactorily set into place, within my being, as Lor reached out a hand for the tickets. So, I should have been more confident that the hunter would comply. Wade's stunt had embittered me again, though.

          So, I waggled my finger. "Kill the fish, that you say are there, _then_ I hand over the tickets."

          Lor treated it as an unnecessary formality, yet complied. The two of us moved to the side of the path and he had me stand still. Lor removed another arrow from his leather quiver and stabbed over my shoulder, to get behind me. Tegan's fish had been palm sized, with fins two or three times that, this new critter was half that size and sky-blue banded with cream and red. Lor plucked the fishy creature from the arrow-tip and popped it into his mouth. My lips pursed indignantly, I was paying and it was my thoughts that the niggler had eaten.

          When Lor retrieved the second fish—slightly larger than my first, deep-purple with white tiger-stripes—I asked for it. The hunter seemed as happy to give me the creature, as not. Lor had seemed impressed, pleased, and encouraging; like any native cuisine eater, when introducing a foreigner to a favored dish.

I swallowed the thing whole, as I had seen Lor do. The niggler was wet and salty, although nearly flavorless. “Huh,” I mused, “I was, um, expecting to remember whatever it had eaten.” I smacked my lips thoughtfully. “So, uh, do they taste different, uh, if they’ve eaten other people’s thoughts?””

“Depends.” Lor was standing very still and intensely staring behind my head. “it might not have had time to each much, or what it got might have been too abstract to register consciously.” He ran a greenish tongue along his teeth and sucked on the air for a moment. “The flavor-flavor always pretty much the same, though… Unless you can dry them out for later, then they're more pickly.” He shrugged and tucked his arrow away. "That's it. The other's swam away. They do that, when you start killing them."

          I scrutinized the orange-elf; he had been honest about the existence of two of them. The idea flitted by that one or two might be left behind, as retribution for my earlier attitude. On the other hand, I felt as if I was thinking more decisively. Plus, upon inspecting my inner bundle of _thrumming_ vows, the sense of obligation between us lay fully within my half of our accord. So, I produced the tickets from my wallet and handed them over, with my thanks.

          With the niggling-nagging feelings released, my dreamembering less immediate, having succeeded in my bargain—in spite of Iron Wade's "assistance"—and after Lor and I jogged to rejoin the larger procession, my mood had finally lightened. I was even feeling more inquisitive again, I turned to Lor, , "So, do you know if Ariadne is in this procession? Or, who is acting as her official representative?" Mostly I wanted to confirm that the Freehold’s founder was a still amongst the community in general.

          "I suspect, that that is her." The hunter gestured upward with jut of his painted nose, yet without moving his eyes from the fae in front of him. "But, I’m not interested in risking any closer inspect, for confirmation."

          I got the hint that Ariadne might react adversely to scrutiny. Therefore, I glanced into the trees' heights, only briefly. Amongst the shadows of the thick gnarled branches and autumn-hued leaves was a deeper darkness moving apace with the train of changelings. The shape seemed large and fluid. I shuddered, then spent the rest of the trip consciously not looking up.

 

Upon reaching the Barrow Mound, the bulk of our parade split and spread, forming a crescent of people in counter point to the mound’s own curvature. True to its name the mound was shaped like a colossal salamander, arcing to face its own tail. Within the inner curve the grassy-earth sloped down, forming a crude amphitheater.

          While the crowd found comfortable places to sit or stand, Queen Glass and a couple of courtiers (an apparently living skeleton in a tuxedo and a frumpy lady that seemed to be made of mud in a mu-mu of scintillating flames), circuited the mound. The trio paced ritualistically and after thrice around, the Queen intoned an unidentifiable phrase in a melodic and bell-clear voice. Once the chanting was done, the Barrow’s salamander maw opened wide, revealing a set of massive stone double-doors. The monolithic slabs slowly yet smoothly opened from within.

A tall Native American man strode out, he moved with pride and command. The fellow wore a leather vest, a loincloth, and some simple jewelry; save for the rings in his ears from which hung a pair of mummified human heads, to rest on the man's broad shoulders. Each macabre accessory’s mouth moved, as if speaking. This had to be King Redhorn and his pate was clean shaven, save for a single blood-red braid which hung from the middle of his head to between his shoulder-blades. A ruby and gold flame danced along the weave of the braid.

          Although Redhorn’s spectacular “crown” did obscure some of the King’s head. The accessory was comprised of shift shapes, also crimson and gold, as well as earthen browns. While distinctly a crown it also hovered halo-like, as it flickered and churned through the shapes of autumn leaves, books, gemstones, and endless other symbols of Autumnearth’s melancholic Graces. As the male monarch approached his Queen, the refractions of her own jagged crystal-crown took on a similar manner of morphing depictions.

          King and Queen strode, hand-in-hand, to the “center. stage” of the semi-natural amphitheater. The pair were of a height to start. As Redhorn and Glass conversed in hushed tones, her smooth bronze form slowly altered; structure and features flowed into a feminine version of the King. After a minute, or so, the two twins turned to the assemblage.

          The alter-masculine version of the monarch raised his hands for attention and spoke, "We, King Redhorn and Queen Glass, greet you all and thank you for attending." His voice was rich and commanding, with just the slightest hint of a Native American accent. Queen Glass stood quiet and regal to his left. Redhorn continued, "We are gathered to hear of a blight which plagues our territories and a possible solution. Many of you are already aware of the damage being done, though you may not have learned aware of the cause. Red Rhea, Scholar-Queen, has traveled from the East to share with us what knowledge she has gathered."

          Redhorn lowered his hands towards were the lady in the red formal-dress, waited nearby; it was the person Tegan had recognized from Ariadne's. Red Rhea moved with regal determination to the King and Queen, her melancholic Grace materializing and trailing dry leaves in her wake. The scholar addressed the leaders privately for a moment, before turning to address the audience.

Red Rhea was a little taller than Redhorn, her bushy mass of hair a match for his in color, though. The Scholar-Queen’s skill was an almost paper-white with irregular born spots, much like a birch tree. Rhea’s velvety red dress seemed to be from the Italian renaissance and was beaded with dozens of teardrop rubies. The visiting monarch, faced the crown and clasped a dark leather-bound book to her chest, fervently with both hands, her face had sharp-carved qualities which added severity to each expression.

          "I have traveled a great deal and poured through many libraries," Red Rhea's voice carried, yet had a dryness that was like the whisper of pages turning, "before I came to this place with this information."

          The woman thrust her left hand forward, long thin-fingers clutching the thick dark book, as punctuation. "The children are being abducted. In recent months they have gone missing in ever greater numbers—numbers far in excess of other territories." She raised her right hand as if swearing to it. "They are being taken by the Folk."

          An unease rippled through the audience. King Redhorn stood stoically and watched those gathered, scanning with his smoldering-coal eyes and not moving his head. Queen Glass stood next to the King and slowly metamorphosed to look more and more like Red Rhea.

          "Keepers are able to take your children, more freely than other courts, because the other courts enact the proper ritual to restrict Them." Red Rhea again gestured with her book, as if trying to propel its contents into the listeners, "The Child's Rite, once established, will needs be renewed annually, on the Autumnal Equinox." Her voice had gradually risen to an almost shout and the dryness in it had been replaced with the sound of a roaring bonfire. "At that time, one mortal child must act as sacrifice, that their fear will amplify and cast a protective repent across all of their peers."

          Another ripple of tension flowed through the audience. Redhorn did not nod, yet seemed approving of the red arcanist. Queen Glass had started to shift beyond Red Rhea's outward appearance; elongating, hair rising outward branch-like, making her expression hard to read.

          "I have offered to perform and teach the ritual. " Rhea regained some controlled of zealous tone, "Failure to act, dooms more and more children. In three days time, I shall be prepared to enact the rite, then I will depart this territory."

          I nodded with self approval, as I quickly recognized the deftness of Rhea’s final sentiment. It added even more urgency to her claims. Plus, the intent to leave showed that powerful woman was not making any sort of play for political position.

Red Rhea bowed her head to the crowd, then stepped back to stand with the Hawk Wood monarchs. There followed period of open discussion and questioning. A fair number of the assembled seemed stunned and as many were incensed, with the Freehold membership mostly affecting a judicious impartiality. However, the discussion which arose all carried a sense of resignation.

As I scanned the crowd, I saw that the majority of spirit-touched tended to look to a dozen or so particular individual and follow their leads. Most were simply accepting that Redhorn and Glass had presented a down deal. The Freeholders glanced to the tree’s or a thin man with a beak-ish nose and glossy green hair. The largest minority of courtiers were also the most pissed, yet grudgingly accepted that Jesse Frost was not making any objections. I quietly mentioned my observations to Lor, especially the focus on his former ruler, to verify my accuracy.

          "Yep, that sees to sum it up." The melancholic hunter nodded towards the wintery King/Queen. "Even Jesse's second, Sly Boots, seemed to agree. And he's usually so hard to get a sense of, that he must of really made an effort to be read.”

          Sly Boots, either was, or simply acted as, Jesse Frost's shadow. I could only perceive that occasionally Jesse's shadow would flicker a little, independent of any light sources, and always seemed to be pointing towards Red Rhea.

          I was not surprised that very few questions were addressed to Rhea or the monarchs, as I drifted from cluster to cluster of debating fae. I was initially dismayed, though, that of those few inquires most came from Tegan Bramblerose, or one of my other allies. Since Ariadne’s people were saying out of the discussions, I assumed that my gang’s unaffiliated status would place us outside of the Court’s interest, or our nosiness would be counted as offensive. As it was, however, our concerns were addressed with the same level of respect as any of the courtiers’. Even so, that merely resulted in Red Rhea fervently rephrasing and reasserting her essential points, which boiled down to, “No other options exist, and time is running out, so we can’t afford to look for any other options. Even if they did exits, which they don’t.”

          I saw that Tegan, Wade, and Gavin, were just getting more frustrated and le4ss polite. So, I made an effort of diplomacy, "I believe my companions," I deferentially hunched, rather than my cohort’s indigent challenging postures, "feel concern that taking and sacrificing a child is all too similar to what the Folk had done to us."

          Red Rhea sternly reiterated with. "One lost child will protect countless others."

          I clenched my jaw against my own desire to snap back my own argument. It was simply counter intuitive to imagine that kidnapping and sacrificing was not in some way beneficial to the Keepers. The Folk were pernicious and unfathomable, for all of Rhea’s expertise, They could still have planted the ancient lore that she was supposedly relying on. Regardless, the wild-haired redhead was clearly not going to listen and she had the floor, or in her case, pulpit, at the pleasure of Hawk Wood’s governing body.

So, I saved my breath.

          So, I chose a different ground of battle and rhetorical weapon. With only three day to act, I hoped to sway popular opinion. Unfortunately, considering my lack of status, I knew that I could never change enough minds to stop the horrendous sounding Child’s Rite. So, I settled for attempting to make the best of a gruesome situation. I continued to mingle with the spirit-touched clusters, with any that I recognized or that seemed open to suggest, I proposed, “Clearly this will be done. However, wouldn’t a volunteer be better? A terminally ill child, fore example, might willingly go to the sacrifice for their peers. Then no kidnapping, at least, would be called for.”

          I was not the only wandering conversationalist. The courtiers all milled in their groups of twos, or threes, or fives, comparing notes and gossip. Every so often one or two break-off to join another cluster. Except for more comrades, of course. As outsiders, none of the courtiers had much cause to seek our opinions. Meanwhile, my allies pilled their same old crap. Passionately appearing to care about the thing in front of them, then mutely collapsing into a state that appears to be internal contemplation, only to be followed with a profound disinterest in the topic and half-hearted efforts to find something new in which to fake interest.

          I rejoined my company with stiff shouldered resolve and was mildly surprised to have been only partially correct. Although, I was fair stunned to discover that Sean Tallwind had also joined our cluster.

          “… tryin’ to find my way to Sheaves & Leaves,” the burn-scarred wrinkle-factory was explaining, “when the Jumpin’ Jack guy and Sol dropped outa the trees.” He rubbed his loose face with pencil-y fingers. “So, they told me about this gathering and led the way.”

          “So, Sols’ hear?” Tegan Bramblerose craned her elegant neck to scan the milling crowd. “Is she okay? Did Springheeled seem to be controlling her.”

          “Pfft,” Sean flick the concerns away with his elongated digits, “If there’s any controlin’ goin’ on there, she’s doin’. I assume their off in some dark private corner, by now.”

          “Should we go look for them?” Gavin Granitbane stood straighter, completely missing Tallwind’s innuendo.

          “No…” Tegan chewed her luscious lower lip a moment. “Since she seems okay, we should try verifying Red Rhea’s claims.” To our collective blank stares, she shrugged. “There has to be some other option, than child sacrifice, there just _has_ to be. Lots of renowned experts have claimed to know the only truth, then we find out later it was just one of several truths, or possibly even wrong.”

Thus, we six (Tegan, ‘Runner, Gavin, Wade, Sean, and I) departed the gathering, along the wide cleared path. Even though Tegan was in our lead, she explained, “It’s refreshing to be able to just walk and not be concentrating on the glamour.”

“Err what?!” Freerunner’s tiny eyes darted to the surrounding woods. “Why rrrnot?!”

Tegan swept her graceful arms, indicating the trodden path, “This is a Ways. At least that’s what I saw them called in a book at Ariadne’s. It takes a lot of changelings, but they maintain the Ways, to always get you from one place to the other. In this case the Freehold and the Salamander Mound.” She shrugged. “Apparently, it’s another service that the Court provides.”

Redcaps had been forgotten or ignored, again. As our sextet traveled we only discussed how to best tackle Miss Bramblerose’s project of counter-researching the Child’s Rite. The most viable method seemed to be each of us scouring different sections of the rare books collection, with regular checking in with each other.

          Once at the Freehold and separated from my colleagues, especially the bloomwells aromatic influence, I reconsidered, again. I had opened my notepad to see the frat-cap menace and related action plan. I made a quick calculation. Red Rhea’s Child’s Rite was on a specific deadline and thwarting would require swift action. On the other hand, the redcaps were still out there and certainly not going to honor our schedule, probably hitting us at the most inconvenient time.

          So, I went ahead and drove off to get my original errands for the day sorted. First stop was to for “armor”. I was worried that mortal authorities might track the purchases of military grade protection, as well as not wanting look obviously armored when wearing the gear. So, I cobbled together a light-weight alternative from a sporting-goods store. If the frat-caps had shown any inclinations firearms, though, I would have bought the Kevlar without consideration.

          Secondly, I spent some time loitering at the Athens Community Center. I winnowed as much wyrd as could, which seemed like weak sauce overall. Luckily I still felt relatively sated, in that regard, as I had already become complacent with the ease of wyrd access in Vegas.

          While at the ACC, I called Dave at Elements and spun some yarn, to get out of work that night and the next day. I applied a little Fairest Tongue and Fortune’s Favor, however was prepared to just get fired. I did not think that I really needed the bartending gig any more, I was just reticent to throw it away outright, in case I could squeeze a little more use out of the place. Dave was extra ticked off, since the next day was Thanksgiving, yet my magical lick held and I avoided the work and kept the employment.

          As much as I had continued to prepare against the frat-caps, I also wanted to assist Tegan and the others against the Child’s Rite. At least, I wanted to do research far more than tend bar. Then, back at Ariadne’s, while failing to uncover any information of use, I had a spark of an idea. Following through with that inspiration would have completely prevented getting to Elements, anyway.

          I had just read a passage which suggested that a beastling known as Yaya Ti had witnessed one of the ancient rites of warding. Then my piecemeal memory tossed out that Tegan had mentioned a Duke Yaya Ti being in charge of the Silver Duchy of the Red Court. It was a long shot, but I wanted to take it anyway.

          I found Tegan sitting at a table near the “Youth” section with Iron Wade and Gavin. Their table was a mock city-scape of book-towers. “Hey, guys.” I kept my voice low, as Philomena had instructed on my first day to Sheaves & Leaves. “Um, Tegan, uh, I need to get back to, uh the oak.” I rubbed the back of m neck. “m, sooner than later. So, uh, could you, uh like, take me there, now?”

          “What?” disapproving emeralds pinned me. “Why? I thought you of all people would shirk at this.” The crystalline green orb flashed at the Man of Steal and Mr. Granitbane.

          “Yeah, uh, no, uh, you’re totally right>”I rolled my amber eyes, took a breath, and composed my thought. “I’m not shirking. I, um, thought that I might, uh, be able to find some useful info over in the Red Court.”

          “Do they have a library, too?” Gavin was stretching his arms by pulling on each wrist.

          “Um, I don’t know, maybe. “ I shrugged. “Mostly I was going to try and talk to some of bigwigs in that court. I figured, it sounded like Rhea’s working her way west, so they might know something that she hasn’t learned, yet.”

          Tegan rolled her neck in one cupped hand. “Yeah, that sounds reasonable.” She stood up. “I’m the only one hear who hasn’t taken a break, yet, so I’m do anyway.” Another venomous glare at the seated lads. Then, the curvy lass led me away.

          The Briar was subdued, somehow even more eerie than usual for no discernable noises or unusual smells. Though, perhaps they were there and too subtle to identify, at the fast jogging pace which my alluring guide set. At the bookstore Tegan’s eyes had seemed dry and tired, however by the time we reached our haven she had gained a second wind. We both paused long enough to pack a snack for the road, then Tegan headed back to the book research and I passed through the portal for another dull desert hike and bus ride.

          Since it was pre-sunset in Nevada, I delayed my intelligence gathering and stopped by the Bellagio's high-stakes Texas Hold’em tables for an hour or so. I made more money, got more comps, and replenished my wyrd. Then I headed to the Mirage, after the sun went down.

          Rather than going straight into the Silver Duchy, I made a circuit of the nearest parts of the mundane resort and casino. As expected, many more fae worked there than any other casino, except for Mandalay Bay. I was also spied in return. A leggy showgirl with fire instead of hair smiled at me. One of the majestic white tigers, on display, also fixed me with an unwavering gaze and purposeful head nod. It could have been polite acknowledgement, however I chose to take it as a bouncer-like cautionary gesture.

          Like the aquarium at Mandalay Bay, the Mirage has a small private zoo-type attraction: Siegfried & Roy's Secret Garden and Dolphin Habitat. Personally, I felt that "Secret Garden" was a bit on the nose, as a descriptor. Regardless, I showed my Duchy d’Or lanyard to the ticket taker lass with black rubbery-skin and tentacles instead of hair or fingers. The woman's large eyes inspected my pass, then she smiled to reveal solid bony plates in place of teeth. "Thank you for visiting, sir. You will find the member's entrance between the first two tiger cages."

          I asked for and received directions to the Duchy's concierge. Then I stepped in. The Duchy d'Argent was most small town made up of tents and pavilions, nestled amongst a ruined metropolis of stone. Expect all that remained of the underlying ancient peoples were an occasional half crumbled wall. There were very few plants and those were potted. I could hear the sounds of martial combat drifting along on the jasmine scented wind, from behind the most extensively intact of the old red-stone walls. However, my mission instead to me to a bead-curtained archway within that same edifice.

          Cushioned seating area were scattered amongst elaborately tiled fountains. I was approached by a slender man in a dun-colored middle-eastern robe-like garment, he was bald and his skin seemed to be made of slitter and glass powder. It took me a over five minutes to convey my request in such a way that I was confident the concierge understood my interest and urgency. Eventually, I found both the right words and correct dollar amount to get the sparkly fellow to smile and agree to make what arrangement that he could.

          "I greatly appreciate that." I handed the man a roll of dollar coins. "For your personal time and efforts.” I tipped, as I believed that thousand-bucks for my actual request probably went to the duchy. “I shall occupy myself in the mortal casino at the Texas Hold'em tables and return hear if I do not hear from you within a couple of hours?" I received another appreciative and agreeable smile.

          Poker at the Mirage provided less profit than I was getting used to, yet much more exciting play. An inevitability, as I employed far less glamour than normal, to try and stay under the Silver Duchies possible radar. Even so, I was comped a dinner for two at one of the stakeries and a pair of tickets to the upcoming Marquez/Bradley prize fight. I had to smile, as I pocketed the boxing tickets, Pashmi was almost certain to go on another date with me to see that match.

          As I was making my way back towards the tiger and dolphin habitat, a lithe, muscular youth in hotel uniform approached me. His skin was diamond-patterns of yellow, white, and red scales. The reptilian lad gave me a message to see the concierge at my earliest convenience. This time I looked into a few of the public friendly tents, on my way to the concierge, to discover varied games of chance or vendors (all similar to the Pleasure Gardens of d'Or).

          The glitter fellow addressed me with more solemnity than earlier, “You have been granted an audience with Duke Tata To, tomorrow afternoon,.”

          “Ah, um…” I was a little sunned, “The Duke, really? I, uh, was expecting like maybe his secretary, or the duchy historian or something.”

          The concierge beamed with clear glass teeth, revealing a silver tongue. “Yes, I too imagined that the most likely of results.” He spread upturned hands. “Yet, here we are. It seems that Mr. Zip, the Duke’s seneschal, spoke to him of your request and Yaya Ti was curious and magnanimous enough to grant you a personal audience.”

Before leaving I sat down and made several notes, to make certain that I came prepared the next day. The process also prompted me to follow through with another idea I had idly jotted down earlier. So, I had the shimmery fellow arrange a care-package, or sorts, for me, while I waited. I felt the same-old sense of loss as I dropped several more hundred dollars. On the other hand, I treasured being able to lazily through money at a situation and have results tossed back.

          While I waited, I visited a row of money-changer’s stalls. In addition to my more typical conversion of poker chips to Mlife credit and US currency, I picked-up some of the Silver Duchy’s signature coins. Where d’Or minted solid gold discs, d’Argent made silver coins in various geometric shapes, each with hexagonal holes. The holes, in turn were threaded through knotted leather cords, for easy transport.

 

Once back at Amy's oak, several of my fellows tried to question me about the thermal shoulder pack which I carried in. I brushed those questions aside, "What bag?" Knowing too well that they would start helping themselves to the treats within, if I gave any quarter.

          To help distract away from my parcel, I told offered, "I'll only be able to help research Child's Rite alternatives in the morning, tomorrow.” I raised a hand to forestall Ms. Bramblerose’s objections. “I have to be at d'Argent, by two, to speak with a dignitary that might have some answers for us, about the ritual." That got their minds of my parcel.

          My news sent the group into another round of talk about their current hobbyhorse. I left the already familiar discussion as it started, to stow my goods in my room.

          I draped the strands of silver coins about my room and enjoyed the small step towards any semblance of decoration. At least, my wardrobe had a decent amount of clothing within, I sighed with satisfaction as I changed into my red-flannel PJs. As I snuggled into bed and lay yawning off to sleep, I quietly said, “Amy, uh, I’m not sure if you can, uh, hear me, but, uh, please don’t tell the others about my cool stuff…”

 

         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:


	18. Chapter 18

…

 

Day 17: Thursday, November 24th (Thanksgiving)

I woke, to see that I had wisely left my notebook open to the days itinerary. I felt distinctly neutral, as if I were moving through the morning by rote. I wondered if it was a lack of dreaming, or not being able to fully grasp the idea of talking to a duke later, which had me so disconnected.

          By the time that I had entered the dining room, however, I had shaken most of the mental blankness. It had helped to remind myself that Yaya To was more celebrity than royalty and then not even a celebrity in which I had any personal investment.

          Amaryllis ferried food from kitchen to enormous table, as I took a seat next to the hunched over Freerunner. Everyone else had also already arrived, Gavin Granitbane, Raion-ju, and Iron wade the Man of Steal to my left, with Tegan Bramblerose and Sean Tallwind to ‘Runner’s right. I barely even noticed the absence of Dark Sol. We all ate what was becoming our standard breakfast: warm oatmeal with many nuts and berries, no cream or brown-sugar, yet plenty of syrup and honey. Except for Amy, of course, who once more claimed to have already eaten.

I poured dark-amber honey onto my warm cereal, as I asked, “Hey, um, Rai, could you hang around here for a few hours and walk me to Ariadne’s later?”

Since deceptively-muscled black-panther lad had failed to join the anti-Child’s Rite research effort the day before, I figured that delaying him would not be much of a reduction to the group’s efforts. In the extensive pause which followed my request, I began to wonder if Rai was just thinking or if he had somehow not heard me. Then, one broad-feline shoulder shrugged, “Sure, the project I’m working on should be done around then anyway.”

That constituted the most words that Rai had ever said directly to me. I sat with a spoon halfway to my agape mouth, long enough for the oatmeal thereon to be cold by the time I remembered to eat. My attention had also shot glances about the breakfast table, assessing whether any of my other housemates had been aware of Raion-ju’s “project”. The shaking heads and shrugs that I saw confirmed the others were in the dark as well. Although, Amaryllis looked more purposefully blank, than unaware.

“I thought you weren’t going to the Silver Duchy until the afternoon?” Tegan’s delicate left-eyebrow raised in a steep crimson arch, which added the subtext of “there’s more researching to be done.”

          I nodded as I chewed and swallowed. “Absolutely, uh, and I want to help at, um, Ariadne’s too. Hence, asking Rai tom uh, lead me there, before my, um, meeting.’ I narrowed my eyes and waggled my own delicate eyebrows in an overly theatrical gesture to indicate that I was mocking Rai’s mysterious ways. “I just, um, have my own project that, uh, must be done first.”

 

When Rai, Amy, and I were the only ones left, in the oak, I happened to hear metallic clanking coming from the sharp-toothed fellow’s room. The noises were disturbingly incongruous within the dryad’s oak, however Amaryllis had made no objects. Plus, I had to walk out of my way to just happen to gently press my ear to Raion-ju’s bedroom door, so if Amy was oaky with the situation, I could not justify sticking my nose any further in.

I returned to the peace of my own solarium room and knuckled down to poetry composition. I was a decent auto-mechanic, however my failed attempt to be an Architect major had proven that I sucked at design, building, sculpting, drawing, and even painting. On the other hand, the contemporary poetry class that I had taken and related teacher’s praise had prompted my major change to Literature. Plus, Chef Rosa had so enjoyed little stanza that I had given her, I felt the exercise was worthy of repeating, for my ducal audience.

I cobbled together what little I had read and heard of Duke Yaya To, in order to make the poem as personal to him as possible. Mostly, though, I relied on my impression of the duke from the sparkly concierge’s attitude. Plus, loads of broad metaphors of desert imagery and my own fervent choleric inspirations.

In the end, I was shocked with how much I liked the poem, to the point that I considered keeping it and writing another as my gift. Unfortunately, I stepped through the portal, just long enough to check my phone, and determined that I would not have time to draft another composition and spend the time at Sheaves & Leaves that I wanted to.

          Passing through the living room, up our tightly spiraled stairs, the space was roommate-free. By the time that I had collected my backpack, jacket, thermal-shoulder bag, for Athens, and returned, Raion-ju was sprawled in his favored stuffed-leather chair. At first I that the bulky fellow was napping, there in his workman’s boots, grease-stained jeans, and dark t-shirt. Then, Rai’s triangle-ears twitched and reflective-green slit-eyes locked on me, as I descended the stairs. My inquiry of, “Ready to go?” received a laconic nod and we were off.

          I considered asking if Rai had completed his project. Then, realized that the yes-or-no question would not tell what it was, which was what I really wanted to know. Then it occurred to me that Rai had not asked about my project and that irritated me. So, I just pushed the thoughts aside and followed through the darkened forest.

The air was crisp air, as was the dry foliage of the Edge Maze. Burning leaf and warm cider were the dominant smells of the journey. Rai brushed through the woodland with imperceptible rustlings, compared to my leaf rattling and crackling tread. We passed along the edge of a glen, wherein a spider the size of a footlocker trundled on stilt-legs two-stories long. The creature paid me and my companion no more heed than Rai seemed to pay it, so I play along.

          Rai got me to the large Victorian-mansion side of Ariadne’s Freehold by mid-morning. Upon entering the lounging garden, my felinoid ally padded over to a fruit tree, with a handful of lemurs in its branches, and slumped down at its base with no comment or further consideration to me. Thick clouds promised rain and I took some satisfaction, imagining how the stoic fellow would look and act in a sudden downpour.

I spied Prof. Peter Dionysus on one of the few stone benches protected by an eave. I paused to say hello and the faun academician was congenial as ever.

“I’m glad that I spotted you. And I regret that I can’t stay and chat, right now.” I said while reaching into my red thermal-satchel and for the gourmet-vegan salad which I had selected from the Duchy d’Argent’s chefs. “But, this is for you.” I handed over the elegantly boxed salad, with a set of the included bamboo utensils. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

Dionysus blinked goat-eyes over the tops of his reading glasses and accepted the gift with a bemused smile. I zipped up my carrier and headed into the building. I was certain that the biologist had expected me to ask for some information in compensation. I smiled knowingly to myself. Instead, I was taking a longer view and building up some general goodwill. Even if no reciprocal obligation was created, it was simply a good idea to have people in the community think kindly of me. Plus, the bemused face I had received was delightful.

Proceeding straight through to the mundane front-desk of Sheaves & Leaves, I greeted the charming blond receptionist. “Uh, hello, Philomena.” I placed my fancy picnic-basket on her desk.

Philomena’s aquiline face brightened into a smile as she reciprocated, “Hello, Tommy, you look well.”

“Um, that’s very nice, uh, of you to say.” Gesturing to the parcel. “I, um, brought a small, uh, Thanksgiving treat.”

Philomena’s springy blond curls dangled and bobbed to one side as she tilted her head in confusion. I realized then that the clerk may not be aware of the Real World date American holiday. I smiled all the wider at the absurdity of my gift, added to Philomena’s sweetly confused face. For extra points, in my private game, I tried to come up with away to get the elfin lass to speak with the enchanting lips of her.

“I, uh, imagined,” I explained, “that the, uh, pastries contained within would best suit you, uh, while the sushi—um, the fussiest dish that I could think of—would, um, go to Alistair.” I shrugged. ”However, um, I trust that you’ll, uh, divvy the dining fairly with Mr. Tomes. Uh, as you see fit.”

“Now it isth you who isth being too kind.” Philomena said as she started to look into the satchel.

Bingo! There was that enticing lisp. I left before I allowed myself to get entangled by the charming sounds of Philomena’s conversation. Not to mention, wanting to get away before I could say something to embarrass myself or upset the cute girl.

I bit my lower lip and scuttled through the safe. I was disappointed in myself for having just then realized that I had forgotten to bring a treat for Rosa. My possibly-preternatural luck held and the pretty tattooed chef was not in sight.

After locating and being briefed by my colleagues, I tucked in to the piles of books and scrolls which they had gathered. One of my associates had located another book-lined study-room with a conference-style table that was large enough for all of us. Having the initial literature pre-selected was a great boon to my natural researching talents.

After an about an hour, Raion-ju joined us, to sit in the corner and rub and brush at the wet spots in his hair and clothes. I hid my Cheshire-grin behind the tome which I was reading.

It another hour or so, of our collective quoting passages and discussing their possible relevance. Ultimately, we only succeeded in ferreting out more support for Red Rhea’s claims. The best that our comparison readings provided to our cause was a choice of two evils option. I had found an explicit reference which practically quoted Red Rhea, or vice versa. Tegan Bramblerose, on the other hand, found a passage in a different volume which claimed the Child’s Rite had left the “participant” terrified and maimed, not sacrificed.

“See,” I pointed to the book in Tegan’s hands, “That, uh, sounds more like what I’d, um expect after reading the thing, uh, yester. That got me, uh, thinking to talk to Yaya Ti, uh, in the first place.

“But,” Gavin stood and stretched out his lower back, “it still says to maim a child.” He sounded somber.

          “Sure,” I nodded, “but maim has to be better than kill right?”

          “Yeah rrurr,” ‘Runner nodded to Tegan, “you might rrr even be able urgh to restorerere the kid rrr afterwards.”

          “Hmm, maybe.” Our auburn-hair temptress sucked on her ruby-red upper lip. “We got ‘til tomorrow, still. So, lets keep looking and hope we can use the maim-‘em-and-fix-’em-later as a plan B.”

          “Um…” I rubbed the back of my neck. “that, uh, sounds good, but I, uh, need to check the time. I, ah, I might have to get to, uh, d’Argent.”

          It was indeed time for my to head to my meeting. By the time I had returned, from checking my phone in the café, my allies had divided their labor. Tegan had convinced Sean, ‘Runner, Rai, and Iron Wade to stay and research, while she would lead me and Gavin to our haven and its portal.

          As my trio made its way, I asked Tegan, “So, uh, I’m surprised that, uh, you trust them to keep going, um, with the reading, on their own.”

          “Well…” cupie-doll lips scowled, “it’s not ideal, but I really wanted to see Dike Yaya Ti.”

          “Huh?” I stumbled over my own feet. “You’re, uh, coming all the way!?”

          “Me too, buddy.” Gavin clapped his cinder-block hands together and rubbed them with a related grinding sound. “You might need back-up. Besides, you’ll look more impressive with a posse.”

          I quietly contemplated whether I was touched or trepidatious. I also ran through various scenarios to assess if I needed to be ready with any particular alternative plans. Mostly, I just concluded that I may have to offer amends for any offense that my entourage may inadvertently provide.

          The Bramblerose led Briar hike was again uneventful. Once out of Ariadne’s garden, the dense canopy was more than a match for the heavy rain. There was one moments when the three of us heard a throaty cackle and another were there may have been lanterns in the distance. However, Tegan stayed our course.

          At our oaken tree-house, our trio took a few minutes to freshen up. Tegan and I even changed our clothes. Gavin, at least, wiped down his one outfit. On our way down the interior spiral, Amy poked her pouting round-face out of the wall. “Why are all of you leaving again? You already left me unguarded once today”

“I thought you said that we had made better defenses?” I cajoled the statuesque wood-grained lass. “And that we had made it harder for anyone else to even accidentally find this place? I’m sure you’ll be okay for a couple more hours, right?”

Personally, I was ton between trying to get Gavin to stay behind and not liking the manipulations that the dryad was pulling. Amy’s big umber eyes started to well up with light-amber tears and I started to sway heavy in her favor.

Thankfully, Tegan stepped forward and gently guided the Amy off to the side, speaking in hushed tones. I probably would have stayed in the oak forever, if that could have stopped the tree-spirit’s tears. After a few minutes, though, Amy let us leave, not happily, yet at least not angry either.

 

At the Duchy d’Argent, the glitter-and-glass concierge led my trio to another door in one of the few crumbling walls. The sparkly fellow introduced us and passed us off to Mr. Zip Seneschal of the Silver Duchy. Mr. Zip was extraordinarily unsettling, to my eye. Dressed in a well tailored gold-silk suit, the seneschal looked like a completely normal, darkly tanned middle-aged man with brown hair and eyes. Except for two features, empty –black eyes, like holes to nowhere, and sippers imbedded all over his skin. The sippers made Mr. Zips skin seem more like cured leather and, though I could not see much thanks to his suit, I suspected that he could completely unzip his entire dermis.

          While part of my mind recoiled and shivered, the rest of me had been girded for such challenges. In m last two weeks, the only constant had been more unsettling weirdness around the corner of each new situation. Either my companions felt the same, or they were even more inured than I had become.

          Through the door were steps cut into the earth. Mr., Zip led us down about one story, then along cool dark stone-hallways. The few doorways which we passed were draped with dense-beaded curtains, rather than actual doors. The sounds and smells were the same as in the bazaar above, only slightly clearer.

          While walking Mr. Zip exchanged simple pleasantries with each of my party. I took the opportunity to verify some points of etiquette. Neither Tegan or Gavin had much to say. When Mr. Zip announced that we had arrived, he held open a curtain of silver, red, white, and black beads.

I bit my lip and quickly fumbled out one of the cold coins from my wrist cuff, as I passed through the entrance. “This is, uh, for your kind attention.” I pressed the coin into Zip's hand and tried to ignore the clink of gold on zipper. “I, um, regret that I did not have the time to, uh, secure a more aesthetic gratuity.”

The officiant accepted the coin with an appreciative nod. My apology, however, elicited a much more pleased smile. Mr. Zip’s teeth were, of course, interlocking and silvery metallic.

In the room, our guide bade us wait, while he gained the Duke’s attention and formally introduced us. As the entry curtain gently rattled to stillness, I observed the fairly Spartan audience chamber. A low stone ceiling helped contain a comforting warm-haze. The walls were made of various blocks of polished sandstone, in hues of yellow, orange, white, and black. Small narrow vents, high in one wall, did little for air circulation. Ornate braziers hung from the ceiling, by chains, filling the space with a dull red glow, spicy incense fumes, and more heat than was technically necessary. In addition to the miasma of incense there was also a distinct musky undertone which I associated with zoos.

I noticed that both Gavin and Tegan immediately had difficulties in the room. The lass virtually wilted with the temperature and the lad had trouble breathing the incense. To their credit, my allies surprised their discomforts as politely as possible. I still rolled my eyes and shook my head, though. Devotees of other humors really could be wimps, at times.

The few furnishings consisted mainly of large cushions, in bright colors, strewn about the edges of the space. There may have been a sideboard of some sort, although that was position past the Duke, so I could not get a good look. Duke Yaya Ti did not recline on pillows, however, instead he sat in a large stone backless-throne, of carved white marble and shaped like a big “U” on legs.

In addition to Mr. Zip there was a handful of other spirit-touched who stood, lingering amongst the cushions. Introductions were not extended to the courtiers. Which was just as well as they all conveyed an air of superiority and I was too nervous to deal with the lesser hangers on.

“Yaya Ti, Duck of d’Argent within the Red Courts of the Western Territories,” Mr. Zip spoke sonorously and gestured to me. “I present Twilight Tommy and his associates, Guests of the Duchy d’Or.” .

I admit, dear reader, that t the time, I thought the phrasing quite formal. I have since learned that it was exceptionally casual, for the Duke. Specifically, Tegan and Gavin were not named, so as to avoid needing to introduce all of the other courtiers to a trio of unaffiliated nobodies. Yet, also as a politeness, as I had no titles and Yaya Ti’s would seem very ostentatious, in that context.

The Duke’s thrown helped to add to his grandeur, raised on a slight dais as it was, not that he needed the assistance. Yaya Ti’s commanding presence was palpable, all on its own. Combined with the smoke and heat and my nerves, I was finding it hard to continue to pick out details of the situation. The sculpted muscles of a man’s body was topped with a white-tiger’s head. So, that explained the musk smell. “ _For life and limb, Tommy,” I thought to myself, “do not say that out loud. Best to just stop thinking about the musk altogether… the weird skirt thing_.” Yaya Ti’s sole garment had been stylish in Egyptian hieroglyphs. “ _Dammit, Tommy, don’t mention that, either_.”

Luminous, golden cat-eyes lazily fell upon me. I reflected that the Duke’s markings were definitely not those of the tiger, from the casino display habitat, before the correct part of my mind kicked me and said that I was expected to speak.

“Ah, um, yes,” I pulled the hand-written poem from my breast-pocket, where I had carried rolled like a scroll. Then, I held it out, expecting that Mr. Zip would convey to Duke Yaya. After several heartbeats, the Duke inclined his large flat head. I was pleased that my mind had seemed to finally be in gear, as I recognized the gesture as an indication for me to read the poem. I was double proud that I remembered my glamours.

While I took a deep steadying breath, I also granted myself Fortune’s Favor and Fairest Tongue. “In appreciation for the honor of this audience, I have composed this ode. I hope that allowance can be made for my delivery, as composition, not recitation, is my forte. Compounded by the fact that I have only just written the piece this morning and have not yet read it aloud...”

After I finished reading the poem, the large languid slit-golden orbs blinked slowly at me. Then, Yaya Ti opened his claw-tipped hand. At which point, Mr. Zip did transfer the curling paper from me to the Duke.

I found myself contemplating an inscrutability contest between Duke Yaya Ti and Raion-ju. I attempted to keep my lip chewing surreptitious as I fretted that the Duke was unable to speak. Would any of the staff be able to interpret? Was my whole plan for naught? Meanwhile, the placid gold eyes read over the poem, then Yaya hand the poem to Mr. Zip, and I once more became the focus of the implacable stare.

“Lord,” I plunged on deferentially using the honorific which Zip had confirmed was appropriate, on our way in, “we have come to you regarding what we have heard referred to as the Child’s Rite.”

The Duke chuffed as tigers do. “That is a grim subject.” His voice was lower than Barry White’s. I felt it vibrating my innards more than heard it.

“Yes,” I agreed, “although we have heard that it is the only manner of dissuading the Folk from taking the mortal children within a territory. It is our hope to find another option, anyway. Can you tell me, is this something that the Red Court practices? Or is there another way?”

“There are not so many children in the territories of the Red Court.” Duke Yaya Ti rumbled. “People go missing from them for many reasons. The Red Court does not overly concern itself with such things.”

It took me a moment, to process the majestic voice into meaning. “Ah, I see.” I took another steadying breath. ”We heard of this while attending a gathering of the Salamander Court, from a visiting scholar called Red Rhea. Do you happen to know if she is a reliable source?”

“I have heard Red Rhea speak,” more slow and measured ultra-bass notes, “at a conference. She was a pre-eminent scholar on the subject of Domain Rituals.”

A metaphoric weight slumped my shoulders and gut, slightly. Then I nodded indication of my allies, “We have found documentation which suggests that this ritual can be fulfilled either by killing or just harming the chosen child. Do you know if the latter method is as effective?”

“I have witnessed the ritual performed successfully, where the child lived.” the Duke paused, conveying even more gravitas. “The child was quite mangled, though.”

I saw Tegan’s pleading look in my peripheral vision and interpreted it aloud, “Could the child not be healed afterwards?”

The tiger head cocked cock to one side, momentarily. “To the best of my knowledge, it was not attempted.” The Duke’s tone suggested that it was a novel idea.

“Does your Lordship,” I attempted to explore as much of the topic as I could, ”know if healing the child, would weaken or undo the Child’s Rite?”

“I can not imagine why it would.” Duke Yaya Ti said, ”Although, as with all magics many things are possible.”

“If a terminally ill child was selected, would that affect the ritual or its purpose?” I had the impression that I was seeking beyond Yaya’s realm of knowledge, yet wanted to be thorough.

The Duke considered, “As long as the child was strong enough to transport themselves to the location and had wits enough to understand the danger and pain… then the Rite would most likely be fulfilled.”

I looked to my comrades for anything they would care to ask. Each of the duo shook their heads. So, I expressed my appreciation to Duke Yaya Ti and, bowed, and followed Mr. Zip out—Gavin and Tegan in tow.

Talking, on our trio’s way back to Red Rock Canyon, Gavin Granitbane was disgusted, keeping thick-arms crossed tight over broad-chest most of the way, “So, our only choice is to try and convince that crazy Rhea lady to traumatize and cripple a kid, instead of killing him.” It was a statement more than a question.

“Or her.” Tegan’s reflexively corrected, dully.

Which seemed to piss Gavin off even more. I did not make a distinction, kids are kids and none of them deserve anything like we were talking about.

“Yeah, well, um,” I said thoughtfully, “I can see why someone might prefer to, uh, just kill the kid, rather than leave them in a, um, brutalized state. Uh, I’m not enthusiastic about either option, uh, I just see the logic.” I shook my head trying to clear away unwanted images. “At least, um, Tegan can probably heal any damage done, uh, after the ritual is completed.”

Tegan shook her auburn waves slowly and grimaced. “I doubt it. My Breath of Comfort counteracts fatigue, hunger, and maybe some blunt trauma. Real serious wounds are… well, I feel like I used to know that glamour, but I just can’t seem to remember the secrets or trick of it. And I have been trying, a lot.”

Gavin and I nodded in sympathy. Most days I would spend a few minutes trying to chisel away at similar shadowy amnesia patches.

“Maybe we can get one of the court people to do it?” the terra-cotta colored bouncer suggested half heartedly. “Some of them must have worked out the harder glamours.”

“Well,” I sighed, “if, uh, the child was terminal before the ritual, um, then magic healing might fix that as well, or at least. Either way, um, I still think the kid might be more willing.”

“Assuming the kid is allowed to make any choice. Knowing what’s going on might mess up the ritual.” Miss Bramblerose also sighed with resignation and shrugged. “I suppose I like these options, over allowing murder.”

“So, uh,” I proposed numbly, as we entered our niche-portal, “more book research? It’s, um, not likely to turn up anything new, uh, in the short time that we have, but uh, at least, it’ll feel like we’re doing something.”

My cohorts agreed with the same low level of enthusiasm that I had. However, as the three of us trundled up the corkscrew stairs, into our vaulted living room, we found Freerunner, Iron Wade, Sean Tallwind, and Raion-ju. The four changelings were sitting around gabbing, rather than off at Ariadne’s as Tegan had expected. Personally, I had essentially given up on expecting results from the collective, as a group.

          After a half-hour or so of “Why aren’t you at the Freehold?” and “We had this great idea” and the like, the situation boiled down to the following.

“We want to deal with the redcaps.” Gruff Sean stated.

“Yeah, we figure the Red Rhea thing isn’t ‘til tomorrow,” Rasped Iron Wade the Man of Steal, “so we should be able to finish this tonight.”

“Especially,” the spindle-fingered fellow supported, “since we have narrowed down three likely targets that we can stake out.”

Tegan tossed up her hands, “Why not, it’s not like this Child’s Right thing is likely to get any better, really.”

Gavin merely nodded agreement with the petite bloomwell.

I did not bother saying, “Why should we be any more successful today?”, nor did I point out that the rest of them had now gone so far as to use one unpleasant task to distract from another unpleased task, which they had being using to distract them from the first task. Instead, I just accepted that pursuing either goal seemed equally valid and futile, so I went along, actually sighing, “Sure, lets clear the old business, as it were.”

Freerunner, meanwhile, had just been sided with the majority and Rai did not participate beyond some nodding

So, we all retired to our rooms, long enough to gear-up for the anticipated battle as best we could. In my case, make-do armor consisting of elbow and knee pads, worn under my clothes, along with and EvoShield “vest”. I had been especial intrigued when I had discovered the torso protection online. The EvoShield product came as a flexible gel-filled garment, which rapidly stiffens to a hard shell-like substance when exposed to air. Luckily, I had Amaryllis to assist me in getting the “armor” on initially. Once cured, the Evo-Shield is a lovely reusable form-fitting polymer breast-plate. I stuffed my motocross helmet, with respiratory filter, into my backpack.

As we all re-gathered in the living room, Amy once more protested being left unguarded. I countered the plea. “We all have to, uh, go, Amy. There’s, um, a lot of redcaps and they already, uh, threatened our mortal-world territory. If we, uh, don’t stop them now, then they’ll probably, uh, track one of us back here, um, some day.” I held my palms up. “And, uh, they’re _really_ tough. So, uh, if we don’t hit them, um, with everything we got now, uh, then we may not get a second shot.”

The choleric dryad nodded, “Very well, that makes sense. However, do not go making more enemies like this and come back soon.”

 

Tegan and Rai had led our septet back through the foreboding darkness of the Briar. The air was cloyingly sweet. The rain still had trouble penetrating to ground level. At one point there was a howling-screeching ruckus which shook leaves from the branches overhead, at another the water drizzling down the nearby tree-trunks became dark and viscous. In both cases our glamour enhanced guides merely quickened our pace.

“So, hrrm Gavin,” Freerunner obserced along the way, “What with rrr the leaf-blowererer?”

“Huh?” the earthen fellow glanced around, as if he had forgotten the heavy machine strapped to his back. “Oh, yeah, neat right? Wade super-charge-glamoured it, so now it’ll blow those stupid ball caps right off of the redcaps’ heads.”

I was glad that any of my team had remembered the weakness of our enemies. Even more so, I was impressed that wade and Gavin had pre-arranged a suitable weapon.

There followed a sort of roll-call of armaments. Iron Wade, obviously, would use his saber, should a fight actually occur. Similarly, Tegan Bramblerose had her throwing knives. Raion-ju very nonchalantly wore what most have been his earlier mystery-project, a pair of metal plate gauntlets with links of cold-iron chain embedded in the knuckles. Sean and ‘Runner planned to use baseball-bats and crowbars.

“How ‘bout it, Tommy.” Tallwind held a spare bat my way. “need one?”

“Nah,” I waved away the offer, “thanks, though. Uh, I have thick gloves and I’ll wrap my bit of cold-iron chain around my knuckles.” I did not bother to elaborate about my coin-roll hand–weights.

Our discussion then turned to outlining our plan for the evening. By the time that we reached the Sheaves & Leaves parking lot, the rain had stopped. I continued to use Summer’s Embrace, although my breath was still just as visible as everyone else’s. We split into our three prearranged teams and drove our respective vehicles to our assigned stake-out venues. Mr. Tallwind claimed to have analyzed our group’s collectiv3e efforts and applied a little sleuthing of his own to narrow our search to only three possible frat-cap hang-out bars. It made me wonder if the grumpy old fart did have some actual detective skills.

 

Thanksgiving night was generally slow, even for sports bars, in spite of it being such a big football day and most people having eaten their holiday meals early. Even so, that did not mean empty. The three bars which Tallwind had identified as the frat-caps’ main haunts were all in a row about two miles apart from each other. Freerunner, Iron Wade, and Sean took ‘Runner’s hack to staked out the largest option, a Dave and Buster’s in the middle of the line. Raion-ju with Tegan, riding pillion, on his Suzuki, took O’Malley’s, a privately owned bar to the east. Leaving me and Gavin in my little black Festiva, to stake out The Pub, to the west. We settled into our respective parking lots around 8:00 pm.

Each of us had slipped more and more into auto-pilot modes, as we had traveled, psyching ourselves up the fight we hoped to have. So, In my car, Mr. Granitbane sat and talked about whatever popped to mind, while stretching and flexing his rocky muscles—to the extent my compact car would allow. Gavin did not really register my lack of participation, as I was mostly ignoring him, in favor of meditating on possible combat strategies.

I understood that fights could not be pre-fought in the mind. However, my only real experience with combat was the so-called fighting and wrestling which my older brother Tom and I had done, when we were kids. Thus, I hoped that thinking about my methods would help steady my nerves. Instead, all of the unknown just frustrated me, could I avoid being hit back, what if more than one redcap came after me at a time, how hard could I reasonably punch, how efficacious would my cold-iron be, and so forth.

Eventually, fair reader, I resorted to reviewing my journal for a suitable calming distraction and to try and sort out how I had come to in that spot. I am not certain that the notes which served as the basis of this tale adequately answered that question for me. Though, I do believe they served to show what it was like to begin coming to grips with life as a spirit-touched.

At 10:07 both Gavin and I got a text, it was from Tegan and had gone to everyone in our gang. “Their here, inside. Rai and I are watching the entrance.”

So, I drove over to O’Malley’s. Gavin’s rough-skin changed from reddish-orange to grey, along the way. So, I too, cast whatever long lasting glamours or which I could think. Including my Summer’s Might, which had helped me smash through the Corkscrew Mountain of the Beyond. Although, I sensed the mystical strength flowing into me was not nearly as potent as it had been it was still a reassuring feeling.

I pulled into O’Malley’s right behind ‘Runner’s taxi. ROTC trained Tegan quickly took command and directed us to defensible hiding spots, explained that the enemy numbered nine, and had us disable their single vehicle. The crappy Chevy’s new tires got slashed, the tailpipe was plugged, and we busted a couple of window. The latter was mostly to get into the car and liberate the sawed off baseball-bats and bricks which the ‘caps had stockpiled as their primary weaponry. We also found half a dozen Molotov-cocktails with “Hobbs” and our rental address crudely written on the labels. So, we had been right to worry that the bloody-headed ogres where escalating and targeting us.

Meanwhile, Tegan was relaying the other information. “We counted nine total. Eight redcaps and one woman with heavy-metal style white hair. She was hanging on the alpha recap, like his girlfriend , or something.” Emerald-eyes watched the bar entrance. “She had that dead look some changelings get, so she might have hand-mouths, like Dark Sol.”

Then we did our final gear-up and took the positions which Tegan had identified. I got my gloves and chain set comfortably, Gavin strapped on his enchanted leaf-blower, and so on. Two of my allies displayed unexpected glamours. Iron Wade the Man of Steal drew his sword, then virtually vanished by stepping into a shadow. Secondly, Sean Tallwind slipped on an oversized shirt and almost doubled in size, actually straining the fabric of the purloined t-shirt.

At least, I assumed that Gavin was correct, when I heard him grumble under his breath, “Hey, the putz swiped my shirt.”

I smiled, both at the prank and for the proof that Gavin owned more than one shirt. Or, at least, had owned more than one.

Our gang had effectively ringed the parking area, crouching behind cars or magically hidden in shadows. Tegan had taken a spot right next to the bar’s entrance, in order to use her hypnotic aroma to wrangle any normal bar patrons, who might be curious. Sean Tallwind had claimed the right to provoke the ‘caps out of O’Malley’s, as the one they had bled. I could tell that Gavin was worried that Sean would start a fire to empty the bar, yet he kept quiet. I was less worried, as I had made sure that all of the Molotov-cocktails and baseball-bats were stored in my Festiva and ‘Runner’s cab.

Less than a minute after the overgrown Sean entered O’Malley’s, he sprinted out again and jumped onto the roof of the crippled Chevy. The scarred and wrinkly fellow hopped up and down and jeered at the rival gang, as they flooded out of the bar. Never one for subtlety, Gavin Granit bane rose up from behind the Chevy and joined the taunting. It worked and the redcaps rushed forward to engage to combat.

The fight was short, as fights always seem to be. We had even predicted the initial actions correctly, the ‘caps remained relatively clipped together and ran towards our taunters, through the middle of the lot. Gavin, still talking smack, blew one of their hats off with his glamoured-up lawn machine. Meanwhile, the rest of us closed in from all sides and made our respective swipes.

Bloomwell Tegan successfully employed her charming gifts to convince all of the mortal bystanders to retreat back into the O’Malley’s. Tegan would later explain that she was more concerned that we might be identified by the normal people, than she was interested in having them as potential sources of emergency wyrd. Besides, the redcaps could have benefited in the same way. I felt the latter reason was legitimate, the former was just short sighted, since I had a helmet ad face cover for identity protection.

Gavin’s cap-less opponent went to his knees immediately. Raw-exposed, bloody skull seemed to throb slightly. Apparently, part of be twisted into a redcap involved having been scalped and it never healing. The exposed brute half-curled up on the asphalt in shock and fear.

I slammed my cold-iron knuckles squarely into the back of my chosen target's head. A wave of satisfaction at the immediate blistering-welts on the ‘cap’s head, clashed with a wash of disappointment that the blood-soaked hat had not been dislodged. Then, the frat-hole was facing me, with his mouth full of too many teeth, all too sharp.

That is when the enemy’s wild-haired girlfriend screamed. The horribly thin and pale lass, in a leather miniskirt and jacket, had hung back, standing nearer to the edge of the parking area, than our ambush ring. The magic in the changeling’s wail raised her haystack-hair to tower over her. While the shrill noise itself identified the woman as a banshee, by curdling and chilling my blood. From my allies stricken faces they had felt the same, though we did not shirk. Save for gentle Freerunner, whose beady-eyes darted about wildly, ad he fell into a fully defensive posture.

Agile and lithe Tegan made martially trained measured-strides, toward the banshee-bitch, then lept into a Lucy Liu worthy round house kick. The screamer was knocked back, right into a baseball-bat, being swung from a moving shadow. The shadow resolved into Dark Sol wielding one of the confiscated sawed-off clubs from ‘Runner’s taxi. Our darkling ally winked at Tegan, then vanished into shadow again. The banshee lay disturbingly, yet satisfyingly, still.

Part of me wondered when Sol had arrived and whether any of my other allies had been aware of her. Although, I was mostly just pleased that the balance of creepy goth chicks had swung in our favor. Then my opponent punched me in the chest.

I blinked while an assortment of realizations, most predominantly that splitting my attention to track the whole battle was leaving me open to attacks. On the other hand, my Evo-Shield vest had done its job and I had barely felt the blow, although the crazed look in my foe’s blood-red eyes suggested that he had been underestimating me and would step up his game from then on. More insidiously, it occurred to me that the frat-caps had the upper hand and my side needed to present some non-physical element to gain an advantage. So, I tied for a distraction and demoralization double whammy.

Pouring wyrd into my faery aura caused the luminous glow to flare bright, erratic, and distracting—like high beams in rearview mirrors. Thus, I became eye-catching, while also being harder to focus attacks towards. I also started counting off our fallen foes and planting the idea that retreat was an option. “All eight of you can get out of town safe! If you go right now!”

The cap-less one started scrambling on the ground, trying to retrieve his hat. Two of the others tried, and failed, to drag Gavin down with tackling maneuvers. The rocky weightlifter shook off one of his opponents, with an almost casual shrug.

Iron Wade stepped from the shadows and stabbed the redcap which Gavin had just dislodged. Blood sprayed, dark, thick, and shiny.

A frat-hole rushed at Tegan, who adopted a demure pose. The bloomwell spoke softly, batting long lashes, and pouting puckery lips. Then her attacker spun on a heel and went after Iron Wade, instead. Later, Ms. Bramblerose would claim that she had asked the redcap to attack his own leader, but her magical manipulation had not been potent enough.

The rest of us on both sides exchanged minor swings and partial hits.

Two of our enemies had been harrowing Raion-ju, while he dodged and watched. Then, the panther-lad suddenly came alive. Rai’s generally slow softness tensed to pure sinewy muscle, he also expanded with some glamour enhance bulk. The predatory fellow moved like wind and water; dodging one opponent, as he backhanded the other, with his new cold-iron gauntlet.

Rai’s stricken foe slammed against a car, dazed. Allowing Raion-ju to spin fluidly to his other opponent. The might metal-clad fist came up to the second ‘cap’s jaw with such force that the frat-hole flew backwards, over a car, and slammed against the wall of O'Malley’s. Bones cracked at the blow and again against the bricks. Rai did not slow, he just followed through and struck his first opponent again—another unmoving body.

“Six! You only got six left! One of them with a hole in him!” I counted them off for the others, as I struck ineffectually at my foe, once more. ”Leave Athens while you can!”

The smell of blood and feces was strong. I let my adrenalin blocked out pieces of my mind, would be horrified later. Even though I had not really expected to find the redcaps, I had told Amy the truth, I honestly believed that losing or surrendering this fight was not an option.

The redcaps seemed to communicate in grunts, as most of them concentrated on Gavin, Wade, or Rai. Generally, Tallwind’s increased size did not convince the enemy that he was more of a threat. Although, my sparing partner did stop trying to squint through m faery light-show, in favor of aiming for my wrinkled comrade. ‘Runner had shaken his supernatural terror and joined Sean and I against the single opponent, yet none of us were acquitted well.

It was about then that Iron Wade attempted to employ a story-telling glamour on his opponents, intending to frighten them. I could only shake my had with bemusement at the melancholic fencer. I was sure that any spirit-touched Graced by Summerfire would have know that speech related attacks only work before or after battle, never during. And I was right, the redcaps kept fighting, completely unfazed.

A terrible _scree-crunch_ noise drew attention to Gavin’s hanger-on biting preternatural teeth into stony grey-hide. With a snarl, Granitbane threw the biter into one of the other ‘caps.

Then the hat-less one sprung up, screaming madly, and manically launched himself at Gavin. Gavin struck the berserk rager away, with a boulder-fist to the chest.

Meanwhile, the two enemies nearest Iron Wade had been laughing, at his so-called scary-story-attack. That was when the foe which Gavin had hurled slammed into one of the laughers, creating an opening for my dour scar-covered cohort. Lights glinted wildly along the saber blade, as Iron Wade moved with machine precision. The standing recap fell like a discarded marionette, while fountaining more dark blood onto the cars and pavement.

So much blood, much more than there should have been… in so many senses of the phrase. “Four!” I counted and laughed like the Sesame Street vampire, to keep from gagging, “Ha! Ha! Ha! Flee and we will give you a day to get out of town!”

All four remaining frat-caps were wounded. Two of them went as berserk as their hatless comrade and charge, one to Gavin and the other Rai. The hatless one and the only calm redcap did, finally, try to flee. The calm one got away. The mad-eyed hatless lad had his neck snapped, when struck by the hurled body of Gavin Granitbane’s last opponent.

 

It was over, save for the leaving. The conflict took perhaps two whole minutes.

          Moving through the carnage, as gingerly as possible, I collected all of the blood-soaked ball-caps that I could find. I was working on auto-pilot, for the most part, simply unable to stand around. Part of me understood that I was in shock. Another part foolishly worried that the brutal changeling could come back to life, if their hats were with them, or that the hats might infect and transform a normal person. The coldest-practical side of me explained that the caps could be used in trade with spirit-touched like Peter Dionysus. I thanked the post trauma shock, for (barely) preventing me from vomiting, at both what I was doing and the callus calculations which I ass entertaining

Only the one redcap had escaped, his seven “brothers” were all dead. Death was terrible, yet I found myself accepting that it was inevitable and sometime necessary. I was not convinced that the redcaps had need killing, just that with them decimated our feud was confidently over. Plus, the, mundane neighborhood would be far better off. Neighbor Larry’s property values may even start to rise. I pushed thoughts of a possible gang turf power-vacuum pit of my head.

While I was “paying mu last respects”, as it were, dangerously elegant Dark Sol gave our assembly a smile and wave, then made a broad sweep of her pale hand. Dapper Springheeled Jack sprang from the nearby rooftop, whence he had merely watched our struggles, to alight next to Sol. Then, the duo sprang off, into the night. I caught Tegan’s set jaw and headshake, before she returned to the business at hand. I knew it was not the appropriate time to express my felling of vindication, for not having sought Sol out when Tegan had been so worried.

We held a frantic discussion regarding what we should do about the bodies and the inevitable police response. Sean Tallwind’s expressed opinion was, ”Feh, TV show’re bull. Podunk ‘berg like Athens ain’t got access to any decent forensics. As long as we ain’t here when the cops arrive, then we’ll be fine.

Freerunner readily agreed and the two of them drove off in his taxi. The rest of us were less confident of police ineptitude. Tegan Bramblerose took the initiative to use her natural and supernatural allures to gather the growing crowd of pedestrians and bar patrons. The enticing redhead would later verify that she walked the crowd to the Dave and Buster, then mingled long enough to get everyone to delete any phone pics or videos that they had taken. Meanwhile, sirens could be heard getting closer, as Rai and Gavin Granitbane loaded the corpses into their Chevy. Then the delegated vehicle was pushed to an empty area of the lot, and set ablaze with Molotov-cocktails. Still grey Gavin Granitbane even manually opened a fire-hydrant to wash away the blood pooled pavement. At least, that is what the two large chaps reported later.

Iron Wade and I had already left for O’Bleness. The slutty banshee was still breathing shallowly, so the grim-faced fencer agreed to help me get her to the hospital. I had enough first-aid to know that moving the unconscious lass was dangerous, yet I also knew enough to tell that we could get her to help alright. If I had been thinking clearly, I would have left her for the police, or call 9-1-1 myself to guaranty that the EMTs would get there fast. Again I was erring on the side of assuaging any guilt I might generate over the situation, plus I did not have the superior training of soldiers or police for coping with such gruesome events.

By the time that I pulled into O’Bleness Memorial, both Wade and I had concluded that neither of us wanted to deal with Emergency Room questions. So, Mr. the Man of Steal carefully left the battered banshee near the Emergency Care entrance, while I kept the car running. Thanks to Iron Wade’s Without A Trace glamour, we were sure that no records of our presence had been left.

 

In a further effort to stave off thinking about what our collective had just done, I drove around aimlessly and chatted to Iron Wade. Nothing pleasant or innocuous was engaging enough to ward of the images of blood and corpses, so I presented a theory which had half formed in my daze. “I, uh, I’ve been thinking about the Child’s Rite.” I kept my eyes on the road and only tracked the impassive Wade in my periphery.

“Okay…” Iron Wade's hasp-voice indicated that I should continue.

“Red Rhea’s clearly a, uh, heavy duty melancholic oriented Lady, right?” I tugged my ear, thoughtfully. “And the Child’s Rite has to be set to be, um, renew on the autumnal equinox. So, a high point for spirit-touched Graced by Autumnearth, yeah?” I laid my tan palm open for a moment. “Duke Yaya Ti confirmed that the Child’s Rite was one of a family of Domain rituals, okay. So, what if Red Rhea is trying to lock the Hawk Wood Court into only being ruled by the Autumn contingent? The rite might just do what she says, but maybe it also ensures that the Redhorn and Glass can’t be deposed, like they did to Jesse Frost.”

I poked my steering wheel with my index finger. “Maybe Jesse, or the nephew, suspected as much and were going to block the ritual for that reason. So, Rhea or the Monarchs kidnapped the nephew. Either, as leverage to get Frost to support their take over, or to keep the nephew from telling anyone.” I paused to let that sink in.

“Heck,” I added, “All of the missing normal kids could have been a long set up by the King and Queen. They could’ve had the outsider Rhea snatch the kids and keep them magically hidden. Thus, pre-supporting their claims.”

“But,” Wade rubbed his chin, “the communities doesn’t like that the kids are missing, if they did take the children and then someone found out… They’d be exiled, or whatever, at the very least, right?”

“Unless,” I raised a triumphant finger, “the kids are returned through some later bogus ritual.”

“Hmm…”y perpetually haggard passenger mused. “But, you and Tegan found accounts of the Child’s Rite and they didn’t mention an other effects, right?”

“Yeah, um… that’s true.” I had to agree. “There were completely separate references to, uh, the Fisher-King Rite. But, other than both rituals, uh, being Domain related, uh, I guess I was just off base.”

“You’ve mention Domain a couple of times.” Wade asked. “What’s that mean, in this context?”

“Um, well,” I mentally checked for any other possible connections, “that’s just what some of the literature called rituals and glamours that interacted across a whole territory.” I sighed, realizing that there really was no reason to imagine that the Domain magics were intertwined with each other. “Forget it. I was just hoping that we could prevent a sacrifice and also not have to worry about the Folk, in the process.”

As Iron Wade empathized, we both got texts, he read aloud, “it’s from Tegan. She’s back at Sheaves & Leaves. Says Gavin benefitted a little from her Breath of Comfort, so if we want she’ll try to ease our sores as well. Then, lead us back to the haven.”

Iron Wade the Man of Steal had suffered a few contusions in the fight, so he was glad of the offer. I was not ready to hang out with that gang or all too efficient killers, so I dropped the grey-eyed fellow off and headed to our rental. Raion-ju’s Suzuki was in the garage when I pulled in and locked my Festiva within, so I knew he would be in the barren ranch-style as well.

I did not mind much, though, since I knew that Rai would be the one person not willing to discus anything. Better still, I heard the big lads heavy steady breathing behind his closed bedroom door, as I se up my inflatable bed, so we did not even have to see each other.

Of course, getting the bedding from my Festiva’s hatch forced me to confront the garbage bag full of bloody ball-caps and sawed-off baseball-bats that I had collected. After a long pinch-lipped moment, I chose to defer any decisions further. Which did mean keeping the “spoils of war” in as good of condition as possible, incase quality mattered later. So, I carefully transferred each cap into its own Zip-Lock bag and stuffed them into the freezer.

Then I took a nice hot shower, put on my PJs, and went to bed. Only slightly disturbed about the slaughter of which I had technically been a part and the prospects of confronting the Salamander Court on the morrow. Truth ne told, I recognized that I was more disturbed that these events did not disturb me more.

 

 

… But what about all that Child’s Rite stuff? I believe you say. That is another tale, all on its own. Please, see Twilight Tommy second tale “Of Great Revenue”.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, so very much, for reading my story. I sincerely hope that you enjoyed it.  
> I would appreciate any polite feedback. Especially, any indication of what worked well and was liked, within my writing. If you have the time and inclination, please let me know what you thought of this Twilight Tommy Tale, either as a comment here on AO3 or via email at gitariart@gmail.com. If you really enjoyed the story, please let others know, as well.  
> The second Twilight Tommy tale is [Of Great Revenue](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3811738).  
>   
> Thanks, again - GitariArt  
> 


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